"How are you?"

"I am fine."

"How are you?"

"I am fine."

"How are you?"

And it goes on and on and on,
This courteous game no one invests in
Half-glances sliding over you
Catalouging your state briefly before
Moving onto something else

The unspoken rules of this game dictate
That you keep to routine.
How are yous and I am fines,
Never change
Never stop.
Never, ever, change.

It does not matter
If these are not truths
It does not matter
If you feel like your skin is bursting
And your head is exploding
And your heart is shrieking
And your blood is singing.

They must ask How are yous
And you must say, I am fines

"I am-"

But.

I am not.

I am not fine you want to scream and shout You have not been fine since last year the year you discovered that you don’t matter you are only worth the As in your report book. The teacher’s assessment of you is unfair yet true and you are never anything less than troubled. Red becomes the colour you see behind your eyelids in the dark and in the day When the red stands out and even if it doesn’t because that’s all. You. Can. Think. About. It is the colour under the skin of your thighs when you slap too hard It is the colour that spills over the skin of your forearms where you hide the cuts under sleeves You are falling falling a dizzy mess No one but you will taint this metaphorical white dress. You dig in your work. You solve math problem after math problem and buy new highlighters to line the pages of your Biology textbook and you pay attention in History class even though your friend elbows you in the ribs to get your attention to show off her latest doodle. But still red redred red red red redred dred ered red red is all you can think about, you don’t like the colour but now you just might. it keeps you sane. After class when no one paid attention and everyone disrupted it you ran to the bathroom to create more so. You tell your friends and they look at you sadly but forget later. It takes you months of not eating properly and starving yourself of sentiment before you realize you are too young to be jaded. Other, better friends (though it is no fault of your older ones) pull you through. You learn to like simple things again. You throw yourself in articles and articles of the feminist movement and watch that new TV show and make more friends that loosen you up and make you laugh and dance. You take pictures and create memories again. You live a little more again. You are making progress.

"-fine."