Regular Life by Jen Chapin
This was a sad day
when the disappointment that was my shadow came into the sun
and he slapped me dull on the forehead
and he told me he had won
So I sink into my gentle home
the streets won't mind if they don't feel my heavy feet today
the bed's inclined to ask me back to stay
But if I stay
then I'll stay
so now I wonder
is there a method to quantify both pain and joy?
does mine hurt as bad as yours does?
does yours feel as good as mine?
And if you live in war
can you still keep score of the burdens like bodies piled at your door?
and the bodies that lost their chance to be more than bodies?
just bodies
What muffled meaning does it hold
to be told that your story is not the only one?
no
not the first nor the last not the best not the worst
you are cursed by a regular life
