Being Happy

Lately, I haven’t held a pen to write another poem

I am paralyzed with an inability to write

The skin on my hands feels like the mud of the cemetery

Content, to not touch anything alive

Lately, I haven’t spoken the words I’d like to

I am paralyzed with an inability to raise my voice

My mouth has confused itself with the molten wax

Setting fire to my tongue every time I utter words of my choice

Lately, I haven’t seen anything I’d not like to

I am paralyzed with an inability to see things beyond the sight

My eyes are mere yellow sunflowers facing the bright sun

Shunning and escaping the dark shadow and its unknown plight

Lately, I haven’t listened to the poetry

I am paralyzed with an inability to hear what my heart pleads inside

My ears have turned into predators of the truth that screams

Assassinating my every urge to know sadness behind the happiness glorified

Lately, I have lost myself amongst the happy voices

I am paralyzed with an inability to discover the scent of being alive

I have fallen for the idea of superficial wisdom

I am only capable of breathing, writing, speaking and hearing exactly the way others like.