happy people don't need to have fun

or savouring,
or happiness for others.

to think of missing out
is to think the worst.
to think of

I could be roaming, yes.
I’ve seen castles and what they do to me,
writing books and all.

I’ve seen waves pour in and take me out,
feet flooded with no more sustained guilt.

I’ve seen joyous trees illuminated and park benches,
resting for my arrival.

I’ve seen parts of this place,
and I know I could see more.

but happy people don’t need to have fun.
therefore,
here I am.

Another day, another Monday,
another strange encounter with authority
and another strange defiance of it all
and another time spent writing about
what I think I know about being happy.

blessed be, they said.
blessed me, I say.