She’s Not Happy

Steve Halama
Steve Halama

She’s not happy—
You can see by the way she glares
The way her brows scrunched in the middle
And the thin line her lips form

She’s not happy—
You can tell by her unbrushed hair;
Unplucked eyebrows;
And chapped lips

She’s not happy—
You can sense by the way she speaks
No depth, just words
Always strained

She’s not happy—
You can feel it with her stance
shy and awkward steps
Always indifferent

She’s not happy—
She’s guarded
She will always be a mystery
shadowed by her own misery

She’s not happy—
You know it as she stares back at you
with dead eyes filled with
debris of broken stardusts

Her feature once composed
of bursting colors
is now just a grayscale
of who she used to be before

Her mind once brimful
of sunflowers and dandelions
is now just an empty
barren field

She’s not happy—
You know she hasn’t been
in a long while
and it breaks you, too Thought Catalog Logo Mark

I’m a living paradox and I breathe in poetry

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