If there was one word One word, isolated by itself That I cannot stand above all others It would have to be "Okay" I despise "Okay" "Okay" Is how your millionth day at work went "Okay" Is off-brand raisin bran "Okay" Is how you say life is going When you don't want to admit you spend Every second of it Wanting to die
"Okay" Is packed to the brim with Hidden implications Like a treasure chest Filled with bottles With little subliminal hatreds Written on tiny slips of paper Passively aggressively pushed inside To discover later As I pull out a treasure map And try to decipher Where I went wrong
"Okay" Is a one word dismissal That feels like an essay a thousand pages long "Okay" Is a poison dripping with disinterest When I dared to share with you Something I thought might make you smile "Okay" Is like trying to talk to a wall While watching the paint on it dry "Okay" Takes two seconds to write Yet I waited days For that dreaded word To grace my notifications "Okay" Should be used sparingly As if each time you send it You **** the receiver just a little bit "Okay" Should not be said so often that I know what you're about to say Like I saw it in a crystal ball "Okay" Is not looking up from your phone When I tell you about my day "Okay" Is not the proper response To "I love you"
They say that the opposite of love isn't hatred It's indifference And I can't think of a response More indifferent to pouring out My heart into your hands Than "Okay" At least the last thing you said to me Before we parted ways Showed that you cared At least a little bit "I hate you" Stung less Than the thousands of times Over our countless conversations You responded "Okay" Okay?
you will never be forgotten. ever. your name twisted into metaphors and colors and distractions will forever be painted across pages and pages of her favorite brand of notebook, no matter how many she burns there will always be one she forgot, and she will only find it once she had almost forgotten you. she will find the one Papyrus notebook and all of your metaphors and colors and disractions will come flooding back, just like how the ocean in your eyes flooded her heart all those years ago.
I write what I see, Because I am blind. I write what I hear, But I am deaf. I write what I feel, But paralyzed. I write what I smell, In my burnt nose. I write what I taste, The only sense left, And thank the day, Because it can be worse.