Hoarding
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.