My soul is not tortured like the skin of a man alone in the searing heat of the dessert.
My mind does not crumble into the rubble of a post war city.
My body does not shake it's self into a shaken, splattered, spineless sorbet.
I am happy, not like a bird in spring but happy as I can be.
My mind is composed, not like a master archer but composed all the same.
My angst is not kept in a box of self disbelief wrapped in a ribbon of doubt and despair.
I am, me, happy to be me. I have my issues which occasionally need tissues but nonetheless and nevertheless and nonethemore and alwaysthemost I am happy