Countless hours of sitting at my desk has rendered me unable to think
Feelings like Braille behind my eyes.
I have so many things I don’t know how to say and yet
They hear what they expect to hear.
As it falls from my lips
“I’m not ok” twists
And tumbles into a puddle of “fine thanks how are you”
And I try to take it back
Scrambling at the concrete with my broken fingernails
Scratching at the lie
Lying there in bright chalk drawings on the pavement.
I’m not fine.
I haven’t been fine in a long time.
And the dusty colours on my fingertips mix with the blood from my nails
As I hold my hands to my chest
To keep my heart from breaking.
© mjc 25 March 2015