Okay

I recently came across a poem that I had written at a very dark time in my life. This is kind of hard to share because it is probably my most personal poem to date and I pull no punches when it comes to uncomfortable imagery. There isn't too much rhyme or reason to this one, seeing as it is more of a freeform poem. I call it:

"Okay"

-by Nic Long

A baby cries in the next room.

It's cries are hollow and echo through my head as if from a distance.

Where is it coming from?

Whose mother does this baby belong?

No one seems to care.

No one moves a muscle.

The baby cries.

The baby cries and I lay here pretending everything is okay.

Pretending my life is okay.

My life is okay.

My life is far from okay.

My friends are okay.

Some of them are okay...

Some friends sink into an eerily lifeless slumber with smiles on their face.

They smiled like it was okay.

Another tooth breaks and cuts your cheek.

Everything is okay.

What time is it?

Okay.

Gunfire in the street outside.

Everything is okay.

I have seen evil and said it was okay.

I have witnessed countless acts of explicit violence in the name of scoring just a little more.

If I have more it's all okay.

If only the house was in a better neighborhood.

It would be more okay.

The neighborhoods built on safety and racially biased application processes.

The neighborhoods designed by men in dimly lit parlors, sipping scotch, smoking cigars and clothed in 99% despair.

Exclusively okay.

Privately okay.

Still just okay.

Lock the gates and put a guard in front of them.

Safety okay.

Ostracized cultures thrown out to waste surviving on crumbs and undervalued servitude.

Gentrification comes to save the day.

Economic okay.

Relocate the poor.

Be okay elsewhere, okay?

Stop.

Get out of your head.

Are you okay?

The baby is still crying.

An aggressive knock at the door.

Once more.

Silence.

Who was it?

I hope they're okay.

It was probably just a junkie looking for an angry fix.

No. It couldn't be.

If it was, they would still be knocking.

Okay.

Was it the cops?

I wish I could move.

I need to leave.

No. It's fine.

Breathe.

The baby continues to cry.

The baby continues to cry and I continue to lie in fear.

Why haven't I checked on it?

Where is it even at?

I hope it's okay.

I'll be able to move in an hour.

I'll be okay in an hour.

Shame sets in within the hour.

Shame is okay though.

Being ashamed means I still know that what I do is wrong.

I'll be okay.

Someday...