with me

twenty

all these times,

i thought you

were okay.

that you were

happy

with your life,

living in texas.

but i didn’t know,

you’d think i would

because we were the

same but i was blind.

i believed your

“okays” and looked

passed them.

it was easier to believe

your words through

text on a computer screen,

rather than staring

into your blue eyes.

why didn’t you

tell me that

you weren’t

okay?           

that happiness

was a big fat

fucking

lie.