You’re Okay


 

Complete Fascination.

I can’t fathom how

anyone likes themselves

as they seem to do now.

 

How can you know

without doubt, what you think,

say and want most is

worth the cartridge of ink

 

it would take to print

that mess out for display?

How can anyone here

even think they’re okay?

 

Aren’t you scared? Aren’t you wrong?

Don’t you constantly doubt?

Who on earth is that strong?

Don’t you flounder about?

 

Where’s the fear, the anxiety,

the disordered depression?

How are you standing there

speaking a lesson?

 

To say “you’re okay”

“It’ll pass, just believe.”

Are you walking around

with an ace up your sleeve?

 

Some magical card

that fills you with hope

that you’re smart and your charm

is as slick as the soap

 

in your fabulous shower

that never has mold,

in your house where your

marvelous stories are told;

 

as you pour your friends wine

and then strum your guitar,

loudly laugh, self-impressed

at the genius you are.

 

 

 

With your four spoken languages,

your new published book,

your soon displayed sculpture,

next to pictures you took.

 

What the fuck is your problem?

Why can’t you just be

as miserable as all of us?

Content to just see

 

that it is usually shitty

and we can’t get ahead.

Now give me my wine,

let me go back to bed.

 

Cause I’m tired, I’m cranky

I’m chubby and late.

You eat your scratch curry

from your recycled plate.

 

We can’t all be good

nope, not even close

but we still try to change

our clothes and our dose

 

of self-loathing, the one

we prescribed to ourselves

cause esteem never served

the ones on the shelves.

 

I don’t want to be this.

None of us, we sure don’t .

It’s just what we know

And our brains, they just won’t

 

let us see what is possible,

what we just might achieve,

if just for a second

it’d let us believe;

 

that we might be worth more

with great things to conceive

that all of us might have

an ace up our own sleeve.

 

So, go on with your dreaming,

enjoy your success,

your perfect blessed family,

your tiny sized dress.

Go run those five miles

have that vegan dessert

we’ll be sitting right here

hummus stains on our shirt.

 

But one day we’ll get there.

So don’t be surprised

when we saddle up close

with our gorgeous thick thighs.

 

When know we are worthy

because of our work;

our brains and our talent

on point, but beserk.

 

Cause we want to be friends

have it all, just like you.

the posts and the followers

the great photos too.

 

Just be a bit easy

we’re taking it slow.

 

Wait, someone just messaged me.

K, thanks, gotta go.

Stronger Than

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Stronger than the night alone

Stronger than the quiet phone

Moved beyond the likes and votes

Moved beyond the brags and boasts

Willing to sink beneath it all

Willing to leap, willing to fall

Enough to know it doesn’t fit

Enough to know…

…It’s all bullshit.

Okay? All of it. Fine, if you need actual facts (you must not work at the White House), then maybe just most of it. If pressed, you have to grant me at least a goodly 75% or more. A strong and vocal majority. Of bullshit.

So, it’s a day, right? Great.  And then a night? Swell. Some of you got lovely things and/or ate lovely food at lovely places. Some of you watched Netflix all day and cried into cuddly wraps and got snot all over the remote.

Either way, it’s okay. I hope you’re okay. I hope the guy treats you well. I hope the girl treats you well. I hope you treat yourself well. I hope you find another decent series and more hummus after you finish your current intaking. Hope you just get some sleep. Hope it all turns out okay. Sometimes that happens. No. Really.

Believe it or not, I’m actually pretty okay.

I expected the crash, you know? I’ve had a tricky, testing few weeks. And then today and tonight being what they are? I was anticipating the in-bed-alone sads? But no. Not kidding. No bullshit. It’s okay.

The most gawky, awkward thing about being okay or, Juno forbid, happy is that no one really wants to hear it. Ask most bloggers/writers/sex therapists. The good stuff is boring. It’s jealous-making and ain’t no one starring that. They might. But not really. Just a passing-by like. The real traction and buzz comes from the hard, hurting, gut-pulling things. They like you and your stuff better when you’re not okay. Because that makes sense.

It’s hard to admit that I’ve been okay. For like, three days. Totally okay.  It’s tremendously unnerving. I had a bit of a crash today. ( Didn’t we all?) But it was a scratch on a bumper. Something you could buff out in a minute.  I worked through. The bottom never came up to meet me and smash my face. Wow. Still okay.

What?

I mean, how…because it didn’t…I shouldn’t…there’s no way…

WHAT??

What is this, being okay? This waking up without the weight and the pressure and the gnawed raw insides. Who does that? No one I know.

I shouldn’t be okay. I should hate my mind and my giant thighs after eating heart-shaped pizza and climbing into bed alone, except for my computer. )Okay and maybe some pizza into bed too.) Because then, I’m not really alone, am I? Yet, here we are. Me and the pizza and the computer. All okay.

Okay days can happen. Believe me, I’m as surprised as you. But they can. So take them if they are fool enough to come knocking. And I know these okays are fleeting. I can already hear mine putting on their coats and boots in the next room. But I’m so glad they came to visit.  I’d forgotten what they look like, those okay days, with their breezy humor, and unflappable spunk. I’m sad to see them go but I’m sending them off with some left-over pizza.

( Sorry. I just could not resist a post for today that included the phrase ‘unflappable spunk’. I’m such a vulgar goonie.)

I hope you’re okay tonight. If not, that’s okay too. I’ll try my best to send my okay days your way next.

Answer if they knock. They’ll have pizza.