Happiness is mine to choose. Often, I am the blockade to it, not others. 
My thoughts, how I recycle hurt to be used again,
Made new with old memories, 
How my spirit cloaks herself in weighty words, 
Dragging behind it the refuse of collapsed contentment,
Yet picking and choosing what pieces of pride to salvage... 
I stop to remind myself, as I stare at a graveyard 
Of guilts self-inflicted,
That happiness is mine for the taking. 
And should she grace me with a moment of her time, 
I want to slurp the deepest 
“Did you find your daddy in my cup� sip of her,
To lick from my lips the life she gave 
From her waterfall of wonderful. 
Even her salt
(Memories replayed only in mind, rarely relived in time)
Tastes like sprinkles and sunrises. 
Who dare say no to such treasure?