I bought into this myth that I must be
A cheerful, a happy smiling person
And if you looked at me, that's what you'd see
But deep inside through tears I was cursing.
My long pursuit of happiness had failed,
I followed all prescriptions they were giving
But tears were running still along my face:
"What's wrong with this imperfect life I'm living?
This life? This life where people age and die,
Where troubles come and bring us down, wasted...
Uninterrupted happiness? A lie.
But moments of it all of us have tasted."
I have these precious moments; in between
When no one is around to diagnose me,
I now allow myself some of that spleen
And cry my heart out to the One who knows me.