(1.) Fine, really.
(2.) Actually, it is a bit more complex.
(3.) Okay, you got me.
(4.) So fine was actually a cover-up
because you see I am the antithesis of ‘fine’
I am blazing fire inside of my chest
burning, screaming, no air left
I am suicidal thoughts clamoring
around in my head
I am razor blades whispering
across clean skin
I am, by all accounts, not actually fine.
But you see (5.) expressing this un-okayness
is rejected by society,
and (6.) the only proper response to the question
is “okay/good/fine, and you?”
and (7.) how do you even know that the person
asking the question wants to know what is
behind the thin veil of fine
and (8.) the fear of rejection for not being fine
in a world of always expecting a fine is
absolutely terrifying
plus (9.) who wants to hear about the
mentally ill girl once again spouting off
reasons to not be fine.
And (10.) when I say I am not fine
I don’t need a list of reasons why
I should be fine,
or panic,
or fear.
(11.) I just need a listening ear,
a metaphorical pat on the back,
a gentle hug, and a promise to sit
in the darkness with me for a bit.
Because (12.) there is nothing wrong
with not being fine.
And (13.) this fire blazing in my chest
will abate and one day I will truly
relish in the feeling of just fine.