I’m fine,
Or at least I think I am.
At least that’s what I say to them, when they ask me how I am.
Because there’s no point explaining,
No one can really help me,
In fact sometimes, they just end up, making things worse.

I’ve tried ranting,
Talking about my problems,
But it’s either no one gets it ,
Or they give me dumb advice.
They tell me things like “someone has it worse”
Or the classical “everything will be okay”
And I know that they’re just trying to help.
But then how do they know that?
How do they know that everything will be alright?

So you know what?
I’m fine.
My writing got thrashed by my favourite author but I’m fine.
Everything seems to be falling apart but I’m fine.
Pretty sure I picked the wrong profession but I’m fine.
This is what fine means now.

Fine means I’m not crying,
I’ve just accepted it all.
I’m not crying myself to sleep because there is no point in that.
Really, don’t worry about me.
I’m alright.

Don’t waste your time on me.
I’m honestly used to being alone.
Don’t check in on me,
I’d much rather check in on you,
Because that’s how I cope with my problems.
I give all the advice in the world,
I make sure everyone’s doing alright,
Even if I’m not.

I’m telling you I’m fine.
I’m basically tired of everything but really, I’m fine.
I think I’m going to stop writing but stop bothering me I’m fine.
I don’t want to bother you,
I wish you could help me but you can’t
And that’s okay.
I’ve accepted it now.
So please don’t be angry with me,
When I tell you I’m fine with tears in my eyes.