Camouflage

I have never felt happiness.

Not like the texture of a silkworm on your fingers,

not like the sudden anger when your favourite part of a book dies mid-page.

I have seen happiness from a distance

on acquainted and stranger faces

like a doctor in an emergency ward

full of patients under observation.

I have known when I am supposed to, expected to, feel happy. 

Because children and pet animals are more often raised on Pavlovian reflexes than affection

And so, I have mimicked being happy

without ever knowing what it feels like.

Most days, I feel rather disappointed. 

Sometimes outraged by it. 

Sometimes numbed by it. 

The feeling lingers,

like the aftertaste of a bitter pill 

swirling around your epiglottis

Some days, I feel a sudden gush of momentary relief

and as I begin to wonder if this could be happiness

and as I try to tell myself, maybe this is what happiness feels like

the feeling evaporates, 

like a volatile fossil fuel 

left out to die in the sun. 

I do not forget my facade though.

And so, I camouflage happiness

wondering if I'm diseased

or is the world in denial.