“And I had no day; I only had night.”
I hate it when people ask me how I am
Lying is so shameful and sad
I hate even being tempted to say,
“I’m fine. How are you?”
Every morning when the sun rises
and the alarm blares
I know that it did not end
I know that I have to do it all again
I know that I can’t cope and still
still, I have to get up
I know that I can’t deal
and the world just wants me to deal
just wants me to say,
“I’m fine.”

But I haven’t been fine in a long time…
Have I ever been fine?
I don’t know
I’ve only really felt fine when I was in love
and sometimes at Church…

I don’t even know what fine really is
Is fine when people do things to you as a kid?
Is fine when your father dies before you even get to grow up and be pissed at him?
Is fine watching your grandmother die?
Her rail-thin frame just tumbled down the basement stairs
She landed laying in a position that even a small child knows a body does not lay in.
Is fine getting old enough to add your own sins to your list?
Is it figuring out how to hurt other people?
Is fine feeling ashamed?
Is fine how you should feel when your friends wrap their car around a tree in the rain?
Is fine when you volunteer but only your friends get sent off to die–
and they died good and dead.
Is fine the relationships you mangled?
Is fine the friends who killed themselves?
Is fine your weakness?
Is fine your hopelessness?
Is fine the dark night that does not seem to end?

I am not fine.

fine is a foreign country that I have only seen in magazines.

But the sun still rises
The morning came again
So how are you?