me, saying this week will be hard
everything will be okay. i understand.
me, being given space to grieve and yet
everything will be okay. it’s not.
me, not feeling room to breathe
me, not feeling well at all
me, with nothing else on my mind

and then everything’s okay. everything’s okay.
everything’s okay. and then

you see the name of the month he is named after, your birth month, or your body quivers, tells you it’s happening again, no it is not, but yes it can, and you have to accept that, and you have to accept that half of your friends know this feeling too, and you feel alone, and you feel selfish, and you feel broken, to never be close in the most primal way, and you can’t tell what you want, and you lie about it to feel better, you feel worse, you feel the worst you ever could, you’re right back in the moment, and then

everything’s okay. everything’s okay. everything’s okay. rinse and repeat. awake and asleep.

find a distraction. and then everything’s okay. everything’s okay. everything’s okay. this week will be hard. no it won’t. but yes it will. it’s okay. everything’s okay. i understand.