most of the time the word fine becomes
a defense mechanism of my mouth
whenever someone starts to ask
how are you doing?
automatically, it hisses through my teeth
like a dull, uneven bullet headed nowhere near
the space occupied by the physical manifestations
of my rapid spiral, sleepless nights,
bouts of irritability, panic attacks, loss of appetite
and the ever-present gaping hole of emptiness
that turns my body into a well of misery
i just want to disappear
but i swallow down my feelings and shrug my lips,
quirked at the corners eyes with fake bravado,
a breath a sigh and say i'm fine
an in-between answer that offers them
an escape relief from the uncomfortable silence
that follows i am not okay
so i make it easier
i take their choice and morph it into a white lie
watching as their shoulders slowly loosen
from the burden of having to pretend they care
by giving unsolicited advices
a wide grin a tap on the back
really? that's great to hear!
because the truth is this,
when they ask you how you are doing
fine is the only answer they expect to hear
it's better to say fine than having to witness
them struggle to find words to fill in the cracks
brought upon by the fatal realization
that neither of you are fine