No one can understand why I cry.
It's as if all the wonderful things in my life should
make me immune to the problems that affect
"average" people.
Well, why can't I be average?
Maybe then it would be O.K. for me to feel lonely
or depressed or fed up with things.
Because God forbid someone with a 3.9 G.P.A and an
acceptance letter to "I'm-So-Smart" University should
feel anything but perfect satisfaction!
After all, don't you know, I have so much talent it's
practically coming out of my ass.
And talent equals potential equals success equals happiness, right?
Yeah, everything's perfect.
Everything's perfect except what matters.

back to my poetry