“i’m okay.”

“I’m okay,” I say, as I look in the mirror.

“I’m okay,” I whisper, as I lock the front door.

“I’m okay,” I think, as I nervously sit on the bus.

“I’m okay,” I answer, as my coworker asks me from across the counter.

“I’m okay,” I mutter, as I see all the work that has to be done today.

“I’m okay,” I reply as I pay for my lunch at the grocery store.

“I’m okay,” I repeat, over and over again, as I sit back down at my desk.

“I’m okay,” I hiss to myself, as tears come up on my way home.

“I’m okay,” I sigh, as I finally close the door to my room.

“I’m okay,” I announce, as I sit at the dinner table,

“I’m okay,” I lie to myself, as I try to relax on the couch.

But late at night, as I lie in bed, I admit: “I’m not okay.”