I'm Not A Poet by Eric Sparks

I want to write a poem for every time I didn’t smile at a joke;
for every time I was too broken to laugh at laughter.
This is for every time I closed my eyes and cried even
though I was happy. This is a poem for every time I punched
my best friend.

See, the world spins and it spins, but it never bends
and it’s supposed to end; we’re not friends; we’re
strangers in a strange land. The world’s true mission
is much more bizarre than any science fiction;
if people took the time to listen instead of falling asleep
then maybe life would be more than a dream. Isn’t that
why the angels were supposed to sing? Their sweet voices
were supposed to bring freedom and joy, both wonderful things.
But look around now, have you seen the scene? Is everything you
see really what God was supposed to mean?

This poem’s for suicide, without killing myself;
and for the tired children who can live without help.
This is for the books that are piled on shelves,
because mine will be in their hands.