Happiness, growing up,
was the jingle from my piggy bank.

Happiness, now that I am older,
is not in my bank account…

Happiness sounds like a record collection,
to fill my room, to fill my heart.

Happiness sounds like a home library,
with charm, and chai and dust.

Happiness sounds like a lover,
calling my name, telling me to come to bed.

Happiness sounds like a kitchen,
that smells of melting butter and fresh bread.

Happiness sounds like a son,
telling me he loves Jesus, and his girlfriend…

And if I cannot have one of these things,
happiness sounds like a bullet passing through my brain.


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