The happier I feel

The less I want to talk

The less I want to share

It’s almost as if my misery

Was what I had to give

And now that I have something

Worth keeping, I’ve started

Hoarding it.

I despise people with too much shit,

And yet

I hoard my happiness

As if acknowledging it, by sharing it

Will somehow ruin it–

Perhaps it’s because

Whenever I talk about my passions

People are sick of hearing about it.

They get either intimidated, overwhelmed

Confused or frustrated, yet

They all talk big talk about their

Happiness, their accomplishments,

Never acknowledging that their

Cold, casual silence is a privilege. So whenever possible, now–

I keep to myself

Because I’m sick of other people’s piss

On my self image.

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