What has grown in place of happiness

When I was small,

it took less than a wave to draw the corners of my mouth upward.

But, 

as I grew more familiar with the rest of the world

and all of its potential terror,

I didn't find that it was that simple.

Life began to give me some wear an tear on the brims of my sleeves. 

The toes of my boots, scuffed.

In general, my body looked as though it had been wracked to the nines.

Even behind my clothes as my taste evolved,

my mind became sharper,

but in exchange of my innocence,

I developed the inability to be ignorant.

I would look at the world,

and I would know what could have inflicted her scars 

because she didn't fall.

And I would look at his bruises and know that it wasn't

just because of him being a kind-hearted clutz.

The sights and smells of the world truly are always open if one wishes to experience them.

I now see why I would never fully emerse myself into such a bright, vibrantly hued void.

I would much rather trudge amongst the ruin beneath,

the real Atlantis if you ask me. 

All of those people up there,

forgetting the downward spirals that lead people into the murky sand mixed waters,

underneath their clear beaches.

They suffer, 

and it is not their fault that the presssure on the journey back up

is so much worse than that of the sweet, silky, oil-slicked pipeline down. 

They choose not to acknowledge their suffering. 

They do not merely recognize it. 

I do not long to belong completely to either of these vortexes, however.

I long to see the suffering of the meek of the time, 

but never be utterly consumed by it. 

I also wish to see the sun in August and not have so much fear of beginnings,

although I do not long for such overwraught happiness as those sunwalkers project. 

I long to be betwixt the two clearly,

but of course there's that tiniest bit that sways a person one way or the other. 

I don't mind where I stand, 

although the amount of times I will be taken aback by such arbitrary mishaps is astunding,

I need not live through them to know.

I've not yet decided if I'm okay with this.

I'm okay with the small part of my own personal abyss that I've already absorbed.

I'm okay with the ability to be silent for such long stretches of time. 

I need not say all of my thoughts because not everyone need comprehend them.

I accept the dark bits of my mind that express themselves without my knowledge,

for they inform those around me that I have earned my place in this world,

survived enough.

I would never tell them myself because a need for their validation simply disgusts me.

So far, I'm alright with who the universe has decided I become,

I like her because the universe did not make me at all.

I made myself while the universe sat back and tossed spit balls at the nape of my neck

until I snapped.

Although I've no clue how many more snaps

I need to endure before I will be consumed

for the final time, when I will no longer need my shell. 

I shall find out,

though counting them, 

why I had never heard a more superfluous act to be done. 

Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.