Poem: Is that the answer?
By: Liza Jessica Marie
What do you do when the answer doesn’t make any
sense? When A doesn’t equal B and the answer is Z?
Does it makes sense to everybody but, me? When
asked a question you expect an answer. Whether
the answer is right or wrong. All I want is honesty.
What’s honest to me? What’s honest to you?
They’re different entirely. It’s all probability.
The abundance of questions are bombarding
my mind. Like why do people get involved in
a problem that they aren’t even a part of?
To get to the otherside, they say. Or why do
people believe in something they don’t see or
have never seen before? Faith and hope, they say.
I don’t think that’s right nor do they seem wrong.
In the end there is an answer. Who’s to say it’s wrong?
Is sadness the absence of happiness? The question
of my dreams or more specifically, nightmares.
Are they really dreams? Or are they nightmares?
To me it could be scary, to others merry, or even
sometimes a sad reality. In the end it’s all perspective.
What you believe and see. If the answer is right or wrong.