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..