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I find it hardest to write 
When I’m happy 
When my emotions are stable
Chemically balancing 
Stimuli vanishing 
Feeling much less like therapy 
And more of a challenge
One comprehensive mountain climb 
Melancholy is a tonic 
That only the sad comfortably stomach 
Makes the jolly man vomit 
Maybe it has to be this way 
Maybe I must 
Absorb myself 
In it’s state
Maybe by ruminating 
Too hard 
The happy would erase 
I fear to dissect it 
Lest it turns to dust 
And I adore it too late 
There’s a transparency 
In those windows 
Riddled with mildew 
That the happy glass
Doesn’t have
It I struggle to see through 
I wish to able to to find 
Inspiration 
In sunshine 
In rainbows
In faerie gardens 
In flowers that sit in pretty rows 
But I only know how to really
Talk 
Speak 
Voice 
Debate 
Pain
And how it freezes you 
How the downs in life 
Reduce you
Like a jeu 
But produce the best in you 
Too
I want to swing from rafters with glee
And write about these things 
Unapologetically
But the human in me 
Sees happy as 
Defeat 
As far too neat 
Not abstract enough 
Not deep 
When I’m happy
My grasp on language 
Simply retreats 
Maybe I’m stuck believing 
Torment is living 
And contentment is giving in
And that’s why these happy states 
I don’t stay in 
I can’t hold my happy too tight
Or like a butterfly it just might 
Fly far far away
Out of my sight 
So I keep worry to the side of me
And despair in my pocket 
So that when I’ve lost it
That joy
That harmony 
When from it I’ve been accosted 
I can slot right back in 
Back into the gloomy
Semantic glory 
I know best 
The safest kind of nest 
And lay my writers block
To rest

by Forest