‘are you okay?’ they ask, and i reply,
‘really, why are you worried? i swear, i’m fine.’
but i know that i’m really not okay
that this is all a mask, a pretty face

when in reality, i’m not all right
in fact, i’m actually quite messed up
everything feels so weird all the time
somehow, i always feel like i’m committing a crime

something is amiss, that much is clear
and if i had a choice, i’d rather not be here
i wish i was a cloud so i could fly
so i could soar into the sky

my books have more of myself in them
there’s only enough human in me to fill a finger
i’m not a person, but a something
or maybe even sometimes nothing

it sure feels like i’m an alien
why else would i feel like such a failure?
the guilt eats on me from inside my chest
and in my shameful silence i am but a guest

we stand together now
in my dreams, so fierce and proud
and if i can for just a moment stay
then let me never wake again

to this plane of existence
where everything’s so different
in my head, people are brave, have guts
to stand up, arms bare with no cuts

there are a lot of mental disorders
and i’m not saying i’m above them
but i don’t really relate to any
must everything have a label?

maybe i can pretend to be okay
and then everything will be just great
and if sometimes i might cry
then don’t worry, i swear, i’m fine