“We have no scar to show for happiness.”
― Chuck Palahniuk, Diary


Contentment
whittles each winter day,
from this arid icy season.

As if a stone,
indefinite in shape,
like a monument
to a lumpy potato:
my life.

If they say so,
happiness is relative
like everything.
My age gifts contrast,
a favoured principle,
gratitude leeched to sin.
Shame a belled burden
harder to divest
than surface ideology,
No angsty philosopher
of my youth
survived my greedy class.

Petit rage, petit integrity.
What was, still was.
Avast, lol.

Laughter is too good
to pass up like carbs.

Was it the storm or
was it the lull?

02/05/2025

Posted on 02/05/2025
Copyright © 2025 Johanna May