I’m, okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.
Say it enough times
and you might start to believe it.
You don’t understand, you don’t understand, you don’t understand.
Say it too many times
and the words start to push past your pursed lips
despite your every desire to swallow them back down,
and you held your tongue today
but what about the next time it comes around?
I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m oaky.
Four years ago I dropped my suitcase in the terminal,
and I still haven’t been able to pick all my personals
because every time I reach for my happiness
someone kicks it to the right,
and when I think I’ve found my peace
I have one more sleepless night,
and when I turned around to pick up my faith somebody had stepped on it.
I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.
It doesn’t work.
Trust me, I’ve tried.
But you cant stuff I’m okay into your faith to help it re-inflate,
and I’m okay won’t be your pillow when its late,
and no matter how much you think it will
I’m okay can’t make you smile.
Sometimes I sit back and
think for a while
how I still cant get my words to dance out
and shimmy into the voids like you could,
how I can never get them to prance into just the right spaces
like they should,
and how, if I could trace the entirety of your life,
everything you cherished, everything you loved,
and somehow shape it to fit me like a glove well
I would do it in a heartbeat,
because that, for me,
would be the most spectacular thing in the world.
See I get so tired
of watching myself curl in situations where I know you would spring,
and watching myself run
at the very times I know you would bring everything you have to the table
and lay it out for everyone to see,
as if to say I dare you
to challenge me.