"How are you?" they ask,
unaware at my inability
to let them know with unbridled passion
That the highest hour of my day is the setting sun-
When Silent screams of disinterest
merge into days that feel like
the weight of disappointment
tipped the scale.
"How are you?"
Able enough to say "I'm fine",
Each syllable heavily riddled
with an undertone of uncertainty.
Aware that the nuance of my fatigue
always has a lingering sense of privilege,
of the knowledge at how easy life should be
and the swaying guilt at the chance
that I'm making the cake walk difficult.
"How are you?"
How many words can I use to let you know
that I'm slowly learning to pull myself
out of the claws of expectations,
designed by concrete jungles
and hypothetical rat races?
That I need to discover solace
in the next spoonful of hope,
and not in the pressure cooker
of constantly having to prove myself
to man-made laws?
"How are you???" they ask.
Finding myself at the end of a rope,
ready to climb it versus letting go.
Aware that sometimes,
the only way out
is the steep climb
up.
