He wants you to be many things, but happy is not one of them.
He wants you to be rich.
He wants you to be handsome.
He wants you to have a smile on your face at all times.
To work most of your life, and come home to your wife and kids.
He wants you to be straight, white, and male.
He wants you to pay your taxes, read your morning paper, and
Laugh at the absurdity of that celebrity’s red carpet outfit,
Rage at the threat to society by the immigrants, and terrorists,
And girls who were born as boys and should fucking stay that way.
He wants you to drink the dregs of your fair-trade coffee,
Feel good about ‘doing your bit’ and leave your mug on the side for someone else to clean.
He wants you to buy a faster car and a bigger house than Mr Jones, because you’re better than him.
He wants you to say you don’t care what other people think, and believe it.
He wants you to drive to the polling station, cross your box, and be content in your huge political influence.
He wants you to keep your eyes on the ground, blind to the strings that pull your every move.
He wants you to feel free.
On a Friday night when you go out with friends and fill your stomach with drinks that numb your mind and slow your hand, because the truth is just out of reach, but always out of reach.
He wants you to be smart. Smart enough to do your work and make money for the men above you, but not smart enough to question why.
He wants you to be many things.
But He does not want you to be happy.