Money can’t buy you happiness, it’s a cliche, they say
Money can buy things that make one happy, any day
They tell me I am fortunate to be rolling in wealth
What can I tell you- I shed tears of sadness in stealth
Oh yes, I have money, in quantities that might appear
Quite excessive, in fact distastefully so, I fear
I must be happy, that is the general perception
Money gives me the freedom of choice and rejection
If I say I’m unhappy, ungrateful I appear to be
For not appreciating the fact that I am lucky
To be richer than most people around
Wherever I’ve gone, this is the sentiment I’ve found…
Now I would like to plead my case and tell you
Why money can’t buy happiness is true
I have a plethora of choices that baffle me
Should I strive for mere comfort or revel in luxury?
While you drive a car that is affordable for you
I could do a Honda, a Tesla or a BMW
Having too many choices provokes anxiety
To the extent that sometimes I cannot clearly see
I suffer constantly on the relationship front too
Wondering what is more attractive out of the two
My personality or my money- I remain paranoid
Constant second-guessing disrupts my sangfroid
The circles where circulates my kind of money
Are full of power games and subtexts that are not funny
When I try to befriend people who have less dough
The elephant in the room disrupts the flow
Of easy conversation, leaving me apologetic
For having money, I feel miserable and pathetic
I never seem to be able to belong anywhere
These are still trivial problems, of that I’m aware
Yet I cannot help but wonder how would life be
If I was born in a middle-class family..
Passion...unbridled 