Chapter 1
‘I’m fine’
8 letters,
2 words,
But how many meaning are inside
The fine swoops and curves
My hand etching into
Paper thin skin,
With intentions and purposes
But serving to juxtapose
Saying that ‘I’m fine.’
You think; worn like paper,
Hands calloused and hardened
By the rough edge of a pencil
And a hard day of playing pretend,
Skin not fitting and hanging off
Like it’s two sizes too big.
That I’m crumpled and ripped
Like a page of a book turned
Too quickly for it to catch up
And I’m left running laps
Around stolen words.
‘I’m fine’
2 syllables,
Too many meanings,
Like a golden leaf
Floating on a breath on wind
At the turning point of Autumn,
Trying to persuade yourself
That it’s still July.
Continued- it’s a broken twig
Beneath a booted foot
Caked in mud and refuse,
but picking up the pieces anyway,
Taping them together
And even though
the crevice still remains,
as deep and as obvious
as the day it was made,
you say
‘I’m fine’
