You’re sad because you’re sad.
It’s psychic. It’s the age. It’s chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need to sleep.
Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.
Take up dancing to forget.
Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and the ice-cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favorite child.
My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you’re trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,
and the red flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside your head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.
~Margaret Atwood, 1995
This is good. I don’t know you but you seem broken. child.
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I didn’t write this. Atwood did. -.-
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YEAH, but you reposted it!
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Loved this. Great illustration too.
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Thank you Michael.
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Thanks for sharing, wonderful poem indeed !
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This is one of my favourites. I’m glad I could bring it to you.
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☺️👍
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What a great poem. There are a lot of sad children and adults that could benefit from reading it. You really know how to make great selections of what to post. Keep up the great work!
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Thank you, my friend. This poem is one of my favorites so it was inevitable that it would find its way to my blog.
Have a great day.
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