They ask.
They always ask.
And I
Trepidatious
and Trembling
Must give them the answer I know they do not want.
So, I search myself
Going past the puppetry
And the bag of answers labeled “Theirs”
Into the furthest corner of myself.
And there I sit.
Drawing out the words that call to me in this place.
And in one hard push they come through me and fall one by one out of my mouth.
“I am okay.
Yes, I am just right really.
Even when I can’t.”
