Today
I had a breakdown.
I saw nothing but black,
and was, after, told that I had destroyed the
living room.
But I am okay, my mother says,
and that's all that matters.
Today
I had a breakdown.
I started to cry in silence,
and nobody noticed until I put my foot
through the glass table and
tore my foot into ribbons.
But I am okay, my dad says,
and that's all that matters.
Today
I had a breakdown.
My foot gushing red while I saw nothing but black,
I fell to the floor,
and curled into a ball,
shaking, not knowing where I was,
like a leaf blown into freezing water.
But I am okay, my mother says.
But I am okay, my dad says.
That's all that matters they say.
I tell my best friend.
And she knows I'm not okay.
Because I am not okay.
But she knows I will be okay,
and that's all that matters.