A predisposition to dark thoughts and negative thinking
I’m convinced there are two types of people in the world
maybe more, at least two. Those who are care-full
glass barely at the half, wearing the gaze of others like a brand sear
the turning of heads like a slap, words spoken or withheld
a sieve with wide holes, draining.
And those who don’t.
(And if this is not true, please stop telling me
you don’t care what others think, stop saying
the world is tinted pink.) Please.
Because the rest of us, we do try
to begin with positive intent, wide mouths
and hearts open in rooms of strangers, for a fleeting hour
feel we’ve got it, found it, sweet notes lingering on
our tongues. We sing, sway tentatively to a song
we know we’ve heard some place before
then doubt what we did, what we saw, what we heard
wake tormented. Should, could, didn’t do
walk weighted. Long for the lightness
of another world view. The one with the
all things working and all shall be well,
that view, fade to grey.
As if we wouldn’t choose
(our perception of) an easy burden
a way of sloughing off, dancing on, head high.
As if we clench our troubled thoughts in careful fingers
like small candles, barely lit enough
to cast a shadow as we shuffle home.