You can’t say the word ‘happy’
while frowning.
It is not possible,
especially when the word ends
in a smile.

It is easy to get distracted
by the things that make us happy,
that make you say the word ‘happy’,
that make you want to smile.

Like ‘happy meal’.
I’ve never seen anyone upset
while eating one.

Assuming there are no chemicals,
the title must be enough of a drug
to bring us into Euphoria;
we forget the world that sits beyond
the golden arches.

Sometimes, other words
become synonymous with
‘happy’.
Like ‘balloon’.

It is hard to be sad while carrying a balloon,
it is a physical representation
of how our spirits want to float,
of a life we wish we had:
carefree and weightless,
nothing but a ribbon to hold us to the ground.

But when we are in our euphoric state
of repeating addicting words
one too many times
we lose track of the ribbon.

It was never important in the first place.

Kinda.
Sorta.
Not really.

The thing about the high is that
eventually it dies.
Even when we breathed happy into our spirits,
we becomes balloons full of hot air.

We get washed up on distant beaches,
or choked on by marine creatures,
taking more life
than we ever had to begin with.

Note: This poem was inspired by the album McDonald’s Balloon Pollution on Blue Planet Society’s Facebook Page.

 

 Creative Commons License
Happy by Cheyenne Alexandria Phillips is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

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