you know nothing's okay
when half your chats end in meaningless okays
when 'okay' is your involuntary response to the questions that aren't asked
to the questions that pierce in the form of pitiful looks
to the questions that mean well
to the questions that only mean to tell
you that hey - your life is messed up and you need to get okay.
like I even know what that means.
okay.
who's been okay lately, really?
*not i.

and she wrote poetry
listening to the moonbeams crash at her feet
while the stars exploded and died before her eyes.

a thousand years from now exists
a world that thrums purely on the energies of nature.
a thousand years from now exists
a world whose stories you now
create.

my scars are
sneaky storytellers.
your eyes can
speak secrets.
our stories are but
fireflies that live
and die
*in the dark.