They taught us all the same story—
chase the shining life,
climb the ladder rung by rung,
collect the milestones like charms
that are supposed to glow
once you finally hold them.
But what if the glow was a lie?
What if happiness was just a word
they carved into the air
to keep us walking forward,
to stop us from asking
why the world feels so hollow?
They said:
find love, build a home,
work hard and you’ll feel whole.
But I did those things,
or watched others do them,
and the world didn’t shift,
the emptiness didn’t fade—
the prize never matched the promise.
Some days it seems like everyone
is pretending the same pretend,
smiling on command,
acting out a happiness
no one truly feels,
as if the truth would crack the world open
if we dared to speak it aloud.
Maybe the biggest lie of all
is that joy is a destination,
waiting like a treasure.
Yet every time we arrive,
the chest is full of dust.
And I’m left wondering
if anyone really believes the story—
or if we’re all just trying not to admit
that nothing feels the way
they said it would.
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 4:11 PM UTC
They taught us all the same story—
chase the shining life,
climb the ladder rung by rung,
collect the milestones like charms
that are supposed to glow
once you finally hold them.
But what if the glow was a lie?
What if happiness was just a word
they carved into the air
to keep us walking forward,
to stop us from asking
why the world feels so hollow?
They said:
find love, build a home,
work hard and you’ll feel whole.
But I did those things,
or watched others do them,
and the world didn’t shift,
the emptiness didn’t fade—
the prize never matched the promise.
Some days it seems like everyone
is pretending the same pretend,
smiling on command,
acting out a happiness
no one truly feels,
as if the truth would crack the world open
if we dared to speak it aloud.
Maybe the biggest lie of all
is that joy is a destination,
waiting like a treasure.
Yet every time we arrive,
the chest is full of dust.
And I’m left wondering
if anyone really believes the story—
or if we’re all just trying not to admit
that nothing feels the way
they said it would.