Excuse Me If I Seem Unhappy

I feel like this poem is relatively self-explanatory, so I’m going to let it speak for itself for a change. Enjoy.

 

Sadness

is a curse

that half the world

must live with.

 

I’m sick

of the golden-eyed

happy hipsters

and the trendies

with their kicks

and their lipstick.

 

My world

is not your world,

I live in a place

where trees are removed

to grow wheat fields

for factory-farming

pigs, cows and chickens,

and the fish

inside my cat food

is probably

unsustainable.

 

I see politicians

bickering on TV

like, “Mum,

I want some money,”

but we’re all

sisters and brothers

from a common ancestor.

 

If there’s a heaven,

which there isn’t,

then he’s looking down

and wondering how

one ejaculation

tore the world apart.

 

So excuse me

if I seem unhappy,

I happened to look

out of the window.

 

I secretly think

that happiness

is over-rated,

a little bit like

Beyonce.

 

Sure,

happiness can sing,

but I don’t want

to hear it

on the radio.

 

Sadness is a minor chord

with a better ring to it,

and sometimes

it uses

distortion.

 

I like to look

at the world

with milk-white

eyes.