Can You Really Get ''High'' On Life? - Poem by Mary Nagy
I'm tired of them asking ''What is it that you're on? ''
Why can't I just be happy with this life I've stumbled on?
My brother says that with each day he sees me it is worse.
He says he thinks my happiness is sorta like a curse.
He says he fears I'm losing touch with harsh reality.
I don't see what the problem is to live your life carefree.
So what if I start laughing when I hear a funny word?
Who cares if I can sit for hours to see a hummingbird?
He says ''Life isn't like that, it's ugly and it hurts.''
Yet, when this trouble looks at me, my soul's eye just averts.
I see the pain and heartache, I hear the hollow moan.
No one feels it more than me and sure, I've felt alone.
I just don't choose to dwell there, in sadness and in fear.
I have to see the good in things so I can persevere.
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