Sometimes I forget that
beneath all the bad days,
to the left of the lost ones,
above where I feel fear,
beyond how things seem and how things are,
down near days when you’re not here,
days when music’s all I hear,
past the broken promise people,
on top of the thoughts gone
and thoughts wrong,
inside, on top of weeks spent inside,
on top of the weeks with no one to talk to,
between the confusion of you and me,
beneath my bones, my filled-up heart
and tucked into the cushion of my soul,

I am happy.

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