I have decided that happiness is not native to earth.
Rather, I believe it to be
from some far away place
delivered on sun rays,
or rather taken from them,
and swallowed whole here on earth.
Happiness is a drug
we are addicted to from birth
and lose our life searching,
slaving away for.
See, there is not a lot of happiness
to go around.
So instead we take heavy doses of synthetics
at malls and bars and banks,
green in the face with cash and envy,
gunning down people
all in the "pursuit of happiness."
See, I would like my fair share of happiness too,
but it seems I keep getting tanlines
from the wrong sunrays.
And that's okay.
Because even though the grass on my side of the fence
is almost burnt to a crisp
as least it is not the pesticide ridden green grass
of my neighbor
whose hands and feet and lungs rot
because she still has to pull up the weeds
before she sprays again to blind
her child who isn't even four
but all he sees is green.
At least I can pray in my wilting grass
for the strength to endure
while my other neighbor
bleeds himself out through the knees
on his brand-new turf yard
while he demands success
and his fair of happiness
from a God he hasn't seen in years.
And I know I'm not quite there yet either,
but when the blue skies finally rain down on me
my grass will crunch beneath my feet
the color of sunshine,
the color yellow.