Whenever someone asks me: “How are you?”
I always take a moment to think of the answer
And by the time it’s on the tip of my tongue,
The person has already left.
I wonder how can we be so carelessly caring?
How could you spit out “How are you” and expect an “I’m fine” in return
As if it’s a standard, a usual thing, a common sense.
How are you?
I’m not okay.
I’m depressed and anxious.
I’m a combination of 3:21 a.m. and late night shower thoughts.
I met a girl that makes my hands want to write poetry,
But her hands want to rip my heart open.
I take naps for sleeps, and sleeps for naps.
My mouth can’t distinguish the taste of food and panic attacks.
My body feels like a battlefield, every will to live is a soldier, falling one by one.
But since you’re expecting me to say “I’m okay”, I’ll say I’m okay because I’d rather numb my feelings than explaining it to you.
Because a soldier cannot explain how it feels like to be in war to a person at home.
Because a snowman cannot explain to a scarecrow how it feels like to melt on a sunny day.
Because a doctor would want to know how a patient feels like, but cannot feel the same way.
Because after I’ve gathered enough words to tell you how I am, you’ve already walked away.