More Than a Tractor, Deeper than the Can.

Theres a happy sad,
And some people can sing it.

Some people can paint it,
Sketch it.

Some people live it,
Not because they can,
But because they are cursed.
Because they do.

Some people learn it,
And still,
They never feel it.

Some of us feel it,
Wrecked for years,
Smiling with tears on our cheeks,
And never learn it.

I have felt it.

I've never stopped.

It's when eyes point at smile.
When smile points at eyes.

A confusion of emotion
Our senses cant define,
Our logic cant disintegrate to build anew
In the form of a typical
'Yes'
'No'
Stack of hopeful brick
And comfortable
Mortar.

The root of every well wished mistake,
The branch of every messy memory,
The leaf of every bent back,
Hunched to find a dry and fleeting meaning
In a decision that was never really made.

But there was never any seed to blame.

There was never any sprout to punish.

That happy sad was born as it was dying.

Blessed to wither and rest forever,

Cursed to grow and never know for sure,

'Am I happy?'

'Am I sad?'