i remember a few months back
i saw this boy
almost a man
slumped over
greasy hair
bags under eyes
solemn-faced
he was writing
and from my viewpoint
i could almost obviously see
the writing was
NOT AT ALL HAPPY
actually
i thought he might have been depressed
and
contemplating SUICIDE
i wanted to reach out
strike up a conversation
maybe about what he was writing
but i didn’t…
i wanted to convince him
that life is worth living
but i didn’t…
i didn’t and i could have
i didn’t and i could have
I DIDN’T AND I COULD HAVE
so i left the little dunkin’ donuts
and then i was angry at myself
but i didn’t turn back…
i’m still angry at myself
for not talking to him
and not turning back
i still wonder if he’s alive
if he’s still suicidal
if he was actually contemplating
THE FINAL ACT
in the first place
or if he was just a harmless writer
sending off the wrong impression
(LIKE ME)
but that day
not even five minutes later
i promised myself
that if i should see another solemn-faced writer
maybe wishing for DEATH
i will talk to them
i will talk to them
I WILL TALK TO THEM
i’ll save them from themselves
and i’ll lift the storm clouds from their thoughts
and i’ll convince them that life is good
that life is great
because it is good
because it is great
and they should live it to the fullest
because
the world needs more solemn-faced writers
and NOT AT ALL HAPPY poems