contemplative contempt

There is a part of my that is happy.
It is proud of what I do.
It is supportive and motivating.
A part that reminds me it's ok

But that is the quiet part.
In all probability it is the quietest voice of all my mind
The loud parts are nothing like that.
It's a struggle in this skull
for supremacy
and there has yet to be a leader in the pack.
It takes one thought to construct this weight
and wear it proud about my neck.

But that is what you want from me.
It's what we all want.
Conversation always reverts to
who has the worst life,
the hardest time,
the toughest parents.

It is the happy who are ostracized
the last abused minority
the contented are condemned
and I would gladly throw the first stone