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.