I am okay,
for I am with my dog and its limited language.
I am okay,
for my parents hear me mimicking their months-old godson's undeveloped urge to express hunger.
"You are as good as anyone here!"
My mother with her should-always-be-agreed-upon tone.
I am okay,
for my favorite shirt can still be worn despite unwashed.
I am okay,
because I could still say it:
I am okay.
I am okay.
I am okay.
I will say it with a wide smile
that stretches from North to South.
I am okay.
I am okay.
For the sixth time, the seventh time, and in a millionfold.
Putting periods before each word.
I am okay.
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