you hear my laughter and think that it is joy, that sound must be what it is.
the situation will often determine that it is my mechanism of defense .
you see me smile and think that it is happiness, the curve of my lips.
the length of time it rests on my face, is the real qualifier of if my happiness exists.
tell me the difference between the lamented grin and the forced smirk
who has the job that is supposed to make my heart’s smile work?
the technician sees the upward turn and thinks its a professional perk
yet never reads the manual, just goes on assumption while the sadness lurks.