Tap out a poem propped up in bed,

Pillows fluffy, I rest my head.

I’m no poet but I love to rhyme,

It’s a totes lush way to idle away holiday time.

French countryside living suits me down to the ground,

Lying back in the sun stroking my daughter’s hand.

So much love to replace pain I left behind,

Treasured time spent with my loved ones so kind.

Birds sing, clouds float,

Tank steadily refilling on my mentally ill (now floating) boat. 

You know what they say, holidays are good for the soul,

I couldn’t agree more, feel like I’m mending and becoming more and more whole.

Muscles unclench. Bones unshatter,

Sit on the terrace and having cool drinks and a natter.

It’s so nice to not write about being unhappy,

Left the bad shit at home and the rest of the crappy.

This is my time, our time, and theirs,

On la vacance, step up Maslow’s pyramid of stairs.

Don’t want to write more. My brain is officially unwound,

For once I feel emotionally sound.

Stranger things have happened, but not many things,

Contentment stays for once, with no attached strings. 😊