are you okay

If I could tell you what was wrong with me, I would. If there was a combination of words that I could reply to “what’s wrong?” then I would.

There’s something about the question, “Are you okay?” that shatters me

Because, before my mind was blank, empty even, but now my mind is running free

And within three seconds, I’ve relived my past traumas and recalled everything wrong in my life

So I answer, “yes”...because there’s too many words, too much internal strife

I’ve found that people don’t want your stories, they have no words to grant you sustenance

I can’t help but feel bitterness from the amount of impertinence

Stop asking if I’m okay, I am not and you’re not and he’s not nor is she

Ask me something that will make me forget, forget everything, so I can understand the term carefree

I haven’t posted in a long time, but I haven’t stopped writing. I have too many drafts saved here to leave at this point. As much as I would love to post my drafts, the perfectionist in me believes they aren’t ready to be shown.