literature

Being Okay Is The Hardest Thing We Do

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Literature Text

Being Okay Is The Hardest Thing We Do

 

because being okay is expected,
if we’re not okay, that’s not okay,
what can we do to be okay?
we can scribble illegible words
on a canvas made for by painters
masquerading as notebook paper,
and hope that we can sell the burn
of stinging emotions for some paper.

but the funny thing about that thought?

is that american money isn’t paper,
it’s 75% cotton and 25% linen fibers.
so even the money you'd earn from your misery,
isn't anything you can write on
when you realize your money isn't 
made to heal. even if it does talk. 
but it never really ever says enough, does it?
But that's okay...

being okay is the hardest thing we do
because sticks and stones do break bones,
but you can hide the scars 
with a jacket or longer sweatshirt.
or put on pants as opposed to athletic shorts.

words kill, words heal, and words are so much more.
and you can't hide the scars that riddle your face,
the way your brows furrow when you feel belittled,
or the way the corner of your mouth twitches
down in that quirky little way when you're anxious.
or that you bite your fingernails when you're anxious too.
anxious too.
anxious too.
you're way too anxious too.
But that's okay...

because you can't convey "okay" with a gesture,
thumbs up doesn't cut it
and it's easy to lie with "okay."
but these letters that make up 'okay'
and that make up language
can't hide the fact that you're really not okay.
because none of us are ever really okay.
it's a fleeting moment because there's always something,
like a pendulum swinging one way then back another,
the subtle collision a metaphor for life always hitting us back,
and the only time life stops hitting us 
is when those hands stop transitions,
like when a clock finally dies. 
But that's okay...a dead clock is right twice a day anyway.


being okay is hard, okay?!
because being okay means things are stagnant
and things aren't changing and things aren't moving.
we're not improving, we're not feeling, we're not doing.
and that's not okay.
so how can there ever be okay when okay is comfortable.
when are we ever comfortable for more than fleeting moments?

we always want something, 
need something.
eat something, drink something,
do something, write something,
feel something, be something.
But that's okay...

i need something, i need to drink something.
i need a hug or something.
arms wrapping around my torso or something.
because love is okay.
it's more than okay though, y'know?
do you understand what I'm saying?
nothing you do is okay,
it's more.

i strive for balance
but tonight i feel like shit,
but tomorrow i'll be better,
and yesterday's yesterday, i was good,
i felt like a king
(but what's a king without a crown?)
till we got to last night 
and i felt like...like..
a microscopic minutia of a lone iota
floating in the air of a vast amphora.
but i'm not stuck in a vase or urn
because I live on the edge of Earth.
and gravity entraps me to its sphere.


i honestly can't remember the last time i was okay.
But that's okay...
because we all just need love. Not "okay."
© 2014 - 2024 chromeantennae
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drowning-poppies's avatar
I remember reading this a million years ago, and I copied it down and read it again every night for a week. Today I remembered this poem and frantically looked it up again, only to find out that you wrote it. it hit me in such a real way the first time I read it and it still feels the same today. thank you :)