I’m trying to define happiness, for happy is
not the nirvana assumed.
All the little impressions I’ve accrued have painted it black and white, a mosaic of absolutes.
I hold some of its gears, some of its parts, but some assembly’s required and even then, it stops and it starts.
So I grab a screwdriver;
dismantling the whole.
Cut the red wire, undetonated desire,
and secure its chokehold on pace.
My components reboot but I can’t interface with her. And so I take a hammer, put it in reverse and dig in, tearing up the ligaments of whatever robot I was trying to build.
I’m trying to colloquially nail down what it means to feel fulfilled,
want for nothing.
Some see that in love but I find it smothering.
I have more than is considered fair,
but everything just kind of