Happiness has a ceiling
It can be reached
Over and over
Big fucking deal
We’ve reached the peak
Multiple times
But it will never be enough
We are addicted
To seeking comfort
So the ceiling is low
This new car, that yacht
This eye candy, that vacation
This title, that brand
We self-medicate
We are brainwashed
Believing in fairytales
and happy-ever-afters
Believing in religions
written to control the masses
Believing in the American Dream
yes, money does buy happiness
But happiness is a shitty pacifier
Keeping us infantile
Sucking at a pseudo-breast
Depression
Being numb and empty
Is what happens
When the pacifier is removed
Depression smells like death
It is a resistance to deep sorrow
We avoid, cocoon
We lick our wounds
But sorrow is a door
Follow the keening
Of every mother
Who has lost a child
Follow the rage
Of the mothers’ who warn
Against pedophiles, guns,
Drugs, wars, and men
Offering money or happiness
They’ll lead you to the door
And through the fire
That fuses life to death
Into the inner sanctum
Where all illusions
Of happiness
Are destroyed
Happiness is made of
Fleeting pleasures
That keeps us like hamsters
On a wheel going nowhere
Happiness is not joy
If we embrace that life
And being fully alive
Includes deep sorrow
We can then empathize
And feel others’ suffering
And that is pure Aliveness
Is felt as deep love and joy
And awe and gratitude
Everything else is just cosplay
05102026bjb
barb j beyers 