Happiness in Intelligent People

Is the rarest thing I know –
so said Hemingway. Boy, my days have
been grey

Remember last Summer? I flew my sister halfway around the world
so she could sit on the couch in the room next to me
a weird, post-Frozen parody,
with a wall between us. I didn’t want to

build anything. I couldn’t even choose
a fucking bar.

“You choose”: in the world are there any
two more uncomforting words
in the anxiety almanac? But I am made of something chemically enhanced,

I bounce. I bounce back.
I am still afraid. I am afraid of everything. A small sample:

wasps (since childhood, never stung)
open sea, throat cancer (still smoking)

and crowds. For the last I red-ragged the bull and bought a flat in Mongkok.
No catch, except strategic deep breaths on the
MTR steps –

but mostly I am afraid of people and by people I mean me

(and you).
You have no idea what you could do.

Happiness in intelligent people
is the rarest thing I know –

oh Ernest, I thought that too
you have no idea how much misery appeals to me but dude,

you never fell asleep in the arms of a love
so fierce it grew teeth.

About fiercemissc

Twenty-something Geordie girl living and working in Hong Kong. Young, free and single and making the most of it.
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