if you ask me if i'm okay, i'm going to say, "yes," regardless.
and when i say, "yes, i'm okay," you won't pay it any special attention.
you won't pay it any attention because you don't want to.
you won't want to take time to listen to my woes because who really wants that?
who wants to listen to someone go on and on about their sad life?
i'll tell you i'm fantastic,
even though the bags under my eyes are the darkest they've been in months.
i'll say i'm doing great,
even though the hollows in my face outline how much weight i'm dropping.
i'll say i'm good
even though my hair hadn't been washed in days.
i'll tell you i'm fine,
even though i haven't properly talked to anyone in days.
i'm okay, i swear i am.
i am the match at the bottom of the box.
one day i will burn bright (and then die) but many have to do so before me.
i'm the clock that runs on batteries.
one day the batteries will die but you won't notice because no one looks at, cares for, or has any use for analog clocks when they have cell phones to look at.
what i mean to say is i'm a slowly rotting tree in california soon to be consumed by a wildfire that will destroy for days but surely be forgotten soon enough.
no, actually, i'm a short-lived hurricane wreaking havoc for a matter of hours before disappearing, not strong enough to live on in memory like katrina or harvey or irma.
what i really mean is i'm okay.
