There’s a funny little game we play,
Each time we meet, it goes that way—
You annoy me just to spark a smile,
An automatic tease in style.
I try to keep a happy mood,
But laughter mixes with attitude.
You poke, I pout, it’s quite a nuisance,
Yet somehow part of our amusement.
Your words can attack like playful rain,
A drizzle made of joy and pain.
I’m excited still, though I pretend,
That I won’t cave, I won’t bend.
But oh, I’m stubborn, through and through,
And so are you—it’s nothing new.
In this small war of wit and flame,
We both keep losing—and love the game.
Therapy Bits 
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