Finding happiness...
Is it really a thing to find?
Is it a thing to feel?
Is it a person, place or a thing?
A wearable item
That adorns your soul—unseen.
Or a pilgrimage or a journey?
You already know what I mean.

Finding happiness...
Maybe just a conversation—
Between you and me—
Or just to watch you
From a place afar—
I imagine us near that sea.

What is happiness?
Is it something reliable?
Something viable?
Or your immersive trance—
A temporary glance.

A fluke, maybe.
Here, I end my ode to this rhyme.
Leaving this question still undefined.
What is happiness?
Perhaps—
A smiling moment in our timeline.

So… you’re having a baby? Oh heavens, oh dear!
Prepare for the chaos, the diapers, the cheer!
There’ll be giggles and burping and onesies galore,
And toys you will trip on from bedroom to floor.

You’ll learn to survive without sleep (more or less),
You’ll Google strange rashes and babyproof stress.
You’ll master the swaddle, the bottle, the “shhh,”
While whispering prayers during midnight **** squish.

Your fridge will be filled with things puréed and bland,
And “me time” now means wiping spit off your hand.
Romance might be “Did you wash the pump parts?”
And “date night” is counting your baby’s heart farts.

But through all the madness, the bottles and binkies,
The strollers, the coos, and the blowouts in pinkies.
One thing stays true as the months pass you by:
Your village is here. (Yes. We mean us… hi.)

We’ll show up with casseroles, wipes, and advice,
(Some helpful, some weird, and some… not so nice).
We’ll offer to babysit—yes, even at two!
(Okay, maybe three. But we’ll show up. For you.)

You might roll your eyes, wish we’d give you some space,
But we’ll still be lurking with gifts and a face~
The face that says “Please… just one cuddle, I beg.”
We don’t need much. Just a sniff of a leg.

So Alden, dear Kevin, from now till you’re grey,
We’re here every tantrum, each night, every day.
You’ve got this! But when you feel tired or small.
Don’t forget: You’re not doing this solo at all.

We’ll be right beside you, and yes, slightly pushy,
With pockets of tissues and cheeks that are cushy.
We’re family, we’re loud, and we love you like crazy~
And honestly? We just want to hold that baby.

Today is a lovely day I was in bed and I thought I’d wake
It seems cosy and lovely no sound but I’m so agitated I just want to read and have a cancer stick.

Los Padres ranger armed and equipped with something disrespectful today I said

Somewheres denied that boy his protocol.

General delivery of disputable intelligence shall find a bride

Recon!
Ayala, mam
The letterhead of drafted title
To obtain non lobbied American shelter language back to our legislation from the arts
Sabet, the arts need you cuffs

Devastated stencils a wardrobe waiting for a prisoner
I ain't Jewish hiding places to go

Between a police man handled as Lee and Sabet the defense eats

Oh child,
so young to be alone,
no means to cope,
left sobbing on gravestones,
void of all hope.

Now searching for a home,
the old one now torn,
wanting for what’s gone,
lost is the memory
forlorn.

When all those who passed,
love’s shadow is cast,
young sorrow to last,
Left aging so fast.