Perhaps it is by my pride that I am defined,
Sinful am I and yet not any less as peculiar or sinful as anyone.
I am sin.
Perhaps also; I am defined by my fidelity.
Compassion fills the very rims of my heart,
It is fidelity by which my affections are reined.
I am a lover.
To say I am unhealthy for my own good,
Is not as fictive as you may believe.
I am insalubrious to my own health.
I am disease.
Not to say that I am bathed in vulgarity,
With machinations up my sleeves.
I am; in ways; the cure to my own sickness.
I procure my own mental state and stability.
In myself I can confide.
I am ailment.
I am laughter in drab rooms,
I am human