I keep telling myself that I’ll be fine,
but something is amiss,
is it religious bliss?
Maybe I need a Miss
so I can get kissed,
or remind me that I’m missed.
Trapped in a bed that’s not even mine
I’ve been put down too many times,
Lived too many lives, lost too many loves,
but I’ll be fine.
I tell myself that I love myself–
Is it really true?
Will I ever be myself without you?
I’m dying to find the answer–
sometimes it feels like cancer
swelling in my throat
hearing nothing except a croak.
I’ll be fine.
Superego instills doubt in my mind
Am I really fine?
I’ll just keep to myself–
Keep wearing my “plastic” smile
struggling to share my feelings with
the ones who care about me.
I’m know I’m not fine,
but I will be only when the closed chambers
of my heart open once again.