Alright

"I'm alright," I insist, "how’ve you been these days?"

And already, I’m drifting — lost in a daze.

But I smile, and I nod, keep my laughter rehearsed,

And tell little lies, just to come off well-versed.

"That outfit’s amazing! So bold, such a hue!"

But truth be told, it doesn’t suit you.

“The music’s great!” you cheer, as the speakers explode,

And I stand there, trembling, already overload.

I want you to like me — I want to belong,

But my heartbeat’s off-beat, the tempo’s all wrong.

So I lift up my glass, fake a laugh, take a sip,

Though it’s only soda, not wine on my lip.

And suddenly, I’m worried — can they all smell my fear?

Can they tell that I’m aching to disappear?

I wait at the counter, pretend to be calm,

While the air is all sweat and cheap perfume balm.

I want to escape, to unmask my disguise,

But the rules of the moment say “socialize.”

So I straighten my shoulders, adjust my smile tight,

And say, “What a time! What a brilliant night!”

You glance at me sideways — did you just see through?

The cracks in the smile, the trembling view?

Who am I kidding, and who is it for —

This version of me I keep at the door?

I want you to feel safe, I want to seem kind,

Though I’m losing myself in the weight of the mind.

Because comfort for me feels like guilt for you,

And I can’t be at ease if you feel it too.

You lead us outside, where the noise starts to fade,

And the city hums soft in a velvet shade.

We talk about pets, our childhood’s old days,

And laughter returns in the simplest ways.

You tell me your cat hated everyone near,

And I share how my dog was my anchor for years.

Our stories weave gently, like dawn into night,

The masks we both wear turn to something light.

At last, my door greets me, a sigh in the air,

You ask, “You okay?” and I answer, “Yeah — fair.”

But the truth slips out quietly, soft, undefined:

I’m not really alright.

I’m just — "fine."