Why does Happiness always hover
high above my bed sheets
like the pesky house fly?
Too agile to be swatted away,
her buzzing too shrill to avoid.
“Pay attention to me!” she pleads.
I prefer the less prying Woe.
She, unlike Happiness, does not ask for anything.
She does not require a daily check-in,
endless reassurances of unwavering devotion,
reminders of how wonderful she is,
and how grateful I am just to have her around.
Woe is not high maintenance.
She sits in silence,
and doesn’t need me to acknowledge her presence.
But Happiness, with her constant demands,
so impossible to please.
I cannot keep up!
Just when I give Happiness what she asks for,
there’s another solicitation waiting for me,
another goal I should set
to keep her satisfied.
Happiness is the hard father
whose high expectations I can never meet.
I am all out of greatness.
I have nothing left to give.
Happiness, is my heart not warm enough
for you to make a home?
Is my life not worthy
of your embrace?