I didn’t die today.
What, that’s my inspiration
for writing poetry today?
I’m starting to wonder if there’s
something wrong with me,
but there’s no gaping hole
where my optimism should be.
Everything is intact. 

Sometimes the kindest thing I can do for myself
is repeat over and over in my head
“This is not helping this is not helping this is not helping this is not” 

When does poetry turn into the demented ramblings of a mad person?

But this is helping this is helping this is helping this is

People say life’s too short
to not have fun
but it’s also too long
to not have fun
so maybe life is the perfect length. 

When people say “are you okay?”
what does okay mean anyway?
Is there one definitive definition?
Okay is defined as:
“satisfactory but not especially good”.
But what I would call satisfactory might
not be satisfactory for someone else.
Is my okay your okay?
If you were me, would you be okay
or would you be fading and waning
under the bright light of day?
Yes, I’m okay, but that doesn’t
really mean anything, does it?
Maybe instead we should ask
“are you good?” because good is
good, there is no doubt about it.
And if you’re obviously lying,
why does nobody ever say
“I don’t believe you”?
I might say I’m okay when I’m
feeling barely satisfactory at all,
but there is no confusion in good.
Though I sometimes wonder
If it sticks around like it used to.

This is helping this is helping this is helping