My Parents Say

My mom says
I don't smile like I use to.
She said
Its like I locked it in a cage.
Only allowing it
To surface at times of importance.
Restricting the amount
Of happiness that slips out.
She talked for awhile
About days where it
Seemed like nothing would stop me.
Or the devilish grin spreading  
Cheek to cheek.
My dad says something similar.
That I don't laugh as much.
As loud, or as often.
It's not so familiar.
He said he misses
How goofy I'd act.
And the days we'd cause mayhem
At BestBuy and Meijer.
We'd run from stores
Screaming in victory
Over little things.
Like fitting myself in
A washing machine.
Or toilet paper used  
As shopping cart cushions.
And I didn't notice.
I had no idea that I'd stopped.
Like the conductors In my brain
Decided that happiness
Was overrated.
A waste of the energy
I didn't have to spare.
For emotions that seemed  
Unused at the time.
Like fingers in cheeks
Molding a smile.
Im tying to bring myself up.
In a new light I announce  
I'm Happy
In the mirror I see the smile
Years unused and unseen.
In my chest the rumbles
Of pure, unadulterated laughter.
I'm bringing myself back
Happier than ever.
My mom says
That I'm smiling more.
My dad says
It's good to hear me again.