Strangely Happy Strangers

When I am around other people,
Strangers,
They always seem happy.
And that makes me sad.

But I am glad that they are happy,
But I get sad because I feel like
I will never get to that place.
I will always feel crappy.

And it feels like no matter
What I do to try and change myself
To be happier,
It never works.

And I feel like maybe
I'm not trying hard enough.

From the outside,
Looking at those strangely happy strangers
It looks so easy for them.
Everything just comes on its merry little way
On a silver f---ing plate

How? How can they be this happy?
Look at the world.

When I look out the window,
I see that everyone has got their own
Happy little lives,
With their happy little houses, and happy little trees.

But inside everything is dying.
The trees are slowly dying from pollution
And being cut down for no legitimate reason I can think of.
The houses aren't happy.
They are full of useless crap
But the memories in that house are nonexistent.

Those happy little strangers
Don't stay in their unhappy home.
They go and be happy in display of others.
And I wish I could go in public
And display my happiness,
Not my imagined happiness.

And I am not happy.
Ever, it seems like.
I cannot find a tangible reason to be happy.
Like the trees and houses.

Maybe there is a reason I could be happy.
But all I can see is disappointment.

Looking into the positive light
Only leads to failure,
And disappointment,
And tears, and medicine
And regret.

That's how it's always been
And I fear, that's how it will always be.