It would be better
if I knew what I wanted.
It would be good
if I found my joy.
It would be easier
if I understood myself
if I was ready for happiness
if I could imagine it
and its curves and dimensions.
If I could see it
I could become it
or help it become
or become becoming to it
and encourage it to come out of hiding.
If I could see my happiness, though,
maybe I wouldn’t call it an “it”
and could more easily identify it in a lineup.
I’ve seen happiness before.
I’ve met it.
I should be able to find it
or it’s ugly cousin
satisfaction.
Maybe contentment is right around the corner
just out of sight
but not out of my sight
since I can’t recognize the damn thing.
It. Her. Whatever.
If I could
hell, I don’t even know which “ifs”
will produce what “thens.”
I’m lost.
Ugh.
It might be better
if I could make some fucking sense.