Transitional Lows

I thought for a long time about
What it meant to be comfortable, feel secure.
Because I do here, -- I don’t there,
And I couldn’t understand why.
Why my person changes with my surroundings,
My smile differs with different people
The words I use carry more or less meaning,
And I sleep better, feel less sick, eat more.

I dream sometimes of taking bits and pieces
The things I like from each and starting there.
I can't put my finger on those things though,
I don’t have that power—like I cant
Heal people with my touch, it's not that strong.
I drift in and out, and while I’m between,
Changing, I feel a miserable low, but it rises.
I find the things I like, smile again, different but just as good.

I guess it won't be any different down the road
There won't be a convergence because really
I don’t want one, I don’t want to lose
The discomfort, awkwardness, the transitional lows.
I can build life upon life and with each different one
I can live differently with just a few carry-overs
A handful of universals, the ones I’ll always need
To be happy, keep smiling, keep being myself.

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