happy

i'm craving cigarettes again,

but don't worry about me,

i'm tough, in fact,

i'm the strongest woman

you know.

not everything can be

peaceful and healing,

though i'd like them to be,

as someone hands me a

jagged novel in my fragile

state. stories of foster kids

and molestation;

things i can't handle.

prisons and shootings,

reminding me how good

i have it. reminding me of

people who live without

hope. i am no longer in

a steinbeck novel. i'd rather

have kerouacian prettiness,

some sort of gnarled beauty

feeling happy in the twisted

decay, art found in

unexpected places, chocolate

words always dripping.

but here the words are harsh

and beauty is deadly and i

stare at a bleak bleak

existence. and i'm reminded

of my own curse; one of genetics,

passed down through the

mother. a spiral of negativity

and depression, one that

casts lovers to the wayside

because no human has that

much patience. i lack the

ability to be happy and remain

there. a life filled with

"if only's"

if only i was in paris,

if only we lived in spain or

bali, if only our debt was

cancelled or we won the lottery.

and now i find myself,

under the low ceiling and

in an empty house, sitting

up with research of family

curses, determined

to dance in a field or burn

sage or pray for forty

days in order to break it.

willing to do anything for

the ability to find happy

and remain there.