Have I spent my days abroad,
Suffering for the word of God?
Have I been beat, with whip or rod?
No. I’m just kind of sad.

Have I been scorned, or hated? Mocked?
Have I from society been blocked?
By cruel hands have I been knocked?
No. I’m just kind of sad.

Have I any right to complain?
When others are standing out in the rain,
With a chemical imbalance in their brain?
No. I’m just kind of sad.

Do I think that I’m depressed? No.
Do I think that I’m obsessed? Perhaps.
But I don’t think I’m about to collapse.
I’m really just a teeny tad sad.

I’m fine, honestly. I’m happy, even!
I’m excited for life. I’ve things to believe in.
Every day I find joy, love, and hope to breathe in.
So how am I still kind of sad?

And I am not lying. I really am happy.
And I don’t really want this to get kind of sappy;
I want it to have a quick end. Make it snappy.
I’m not gonna stay kind of sad.

But while it is here, is it really okay?
Is it okay for me to stay a little this way?
I’ve not suffered much, but be that as it may,
Can I still maybe feel kind of sad?

Do I have permission, from you who are hurting?
Do I need permission? My eyes are averting.
I beg you excuse all this nonsense I’m blurting.
Honestly, I’m just kind of sad.

What do I do? Should I hate myself now?
I can fix what is broken. I can find how.
Shut down. Get to work, by the sweat of my brow.
I’ll ignore that I’m just a tad sad.

But that seems so wrong. I just want to cry.
I don’t have a question. I don’t care to know why.
I just want to turn gray, like a thunderstorm sky,
And accept for a while that I’m sad.

But isn’t that selfish? Is it, or not?
Some people say yes, some people say naught.
I can’t take the confusion that this thing has wrought.
Am I really even that sad?

Am I a disappointment? I don’t want to be.
I can see the gifts that have been given to me.
I’m try to be grateful for the moments I see.
Am I failure because I am sad?

I walk down the street. The leaves are all red.
I’m running my errands, but I want to be in bed.
A passerby greets me as he walks where I tread.
He cannot tell that I’m sad.

Neither can I.