What has happened, 

where did all the joy go? You tell yourself: 

you are not a victim. 

This is life for everyone. 

Suck it up. 

But it doesn't change the way you feel. 

They say that it will pass, and I think we will too, 

because of the severity of our rigid views. 

But maybe in the meantime, 

I can hope to be the same again, 

I can hope to feel the joy of the sun on my skin, 

or feel nostalgia when the clouds cry rain; 

I can wish to be surrounded by kindness 

and not dismissal, 

and I can pray that all of it passes, all but us. 

I am nothing

There is always a screen. A translucent film separating us; a bubble with a rainbow on its surface. Beautiful. Tragic. Laughs that echo within, cheeks rosy from the laughter, or is it just a reflection from the screen? Pause. Reflect. Which one of these are your true friends? The film keeps caving in on me. Until it becomes me. I am the screen. I am the film. I am the bubble. I am the shield. Until it consumes me. Now, what am I? I am nothing.