Coping

I’m Fine Thanks

I’m not OK
Not within the weeping of trees,
Or inside wailing caverns,
Nor whilst walking home,
alone,
on a Saturday night
after the fight we had under the opaque moon.
 
I’m not OK in the vast open spaces,
of myself.
When I come to the end of my time
as a host, as a lover,
as a child,
as a friend.

I’m not OK
in my forced role of parent, or therapist.
Nor am I a sturdy shoulder,
a prop, a raft: left to hold others afloat.
 
After the day is through and the walls become silent
Hours left to my own devices,
my own thoughts, feelings even
Here – I’m not OK.
 
You cannot see,
yet in me lies a detonator
waiting for sanity to finally give in.
Silently mocking – willing me to explode
so that every bit of me is opened up to scrutiny,
and judgement.
Disappointment,
for both you and me.
 
And only then,
when my body is wiped from the walls,
and scarlet pools around their shoes
will they claim –
 
She seemed OK
She was always OK

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