Am I happy?

Hush. Listen to tips of trees.
For there I climb to escape from the world.
There, my thoughts are my own.
And own them I shall.

Amber coffee stains on the silky white page
Like the memories imbedded in the garden soil of my mind.
Facial features drained of everything.
Eyes sunken. No color. Flesh fragile as butterfly’s wings.
Fly away to tips of trees.

Oh! How soon you flew. Not with wings, but with wind.
Gently floating what’s left of you towards
Where you should be.
Where I will meet you at the tips of trees.

If you asked me if I was happy when I was five,
I’d grin from ear to ear, tilt my tiny head back, and
Laugh because I saw no reason not to be.

If you asked me when I was ten,
My response would churn inside my head.
I would shift weight from left to right,
My palms would moisten and I’d manage to skip right around the answer.

Paralyzed in my seat, I’m asked if I am happy.
I freeze. All eyes on me,
Watching tiny droplets of the sweetest inner rain collect and are released
only to slide down my cheeks and evaporate into my softly scarred skin.

My façade is impenetrable.
My cheeks turn up- yes. But it is not a smile.
The steel fortress is being torn down.
Trunks below me swaying back and forth, losing its strength.

Am I happy?

Exhale so softly it doesn’t even ripple on the stagnant waters of sound.
Slowly letting go of the air occupying my lungs.
My eyes soften and relax, letting go of that one last drop,
As I feel the truth smiling down on me.

Happy? No. Living. And grateful for it.