How I Am

You ask me how I
am.
You ask me how my life
is.
I never tell you.
I never really
tell you,
because I always spill.
I always tell
everyone
everything.
I always rip open
and let it loose
and I guess I finally realized
no one wanted
to hear it.
No one was really
listening.
No one who asks
‘how are you?’
really cares about the answer;
it’s just polite noise.
I never tell you how I
am
because I don’t want to
open myself
up to polite noise,
because I’m hoping for
something real.
I don’t tell you how I am,
because I’m waiting to see
if you really want to know.
Will you ever notice
that I’m always
fine?
That I’m never
fine?
While it’s true that
I am not alone,
while it’s true that
everyone can feel
and has felt
what I feel,
it doesn’t matter —
I won’t tell you how I
am,
because I don’t know
how to trust you
enough
to tell the truth,
because I don’t know
how to love myself
enough
if you don’t care
that I did.

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