How am I, you ask?
How am I, in the “fine-how-are-you” way or do you really want to know,
cause if you really, truly, sincerely want to know, I’ve warned you…
I’m an open book, I’m a messy drawer, I’m an unfinished portrait
in womanhood; I’m a beautiful mess.
Nothing is certain, nothing is sure, nothing is right, yet. but yet is nothing more than hope, yet is only hoping in something that may or may not come and i may or may not find my way out of this. my bangs are too long, but if they’re not too long, they’re too short, they’re only just right for a day or so and I’m here and I don’t know why, I don’t know what I’m supposed to learn from this great big beautiful mess. My insides are askew, my ass is growing wider, my reflection isn’t impressing me lately and I’m stuck inside and days go by when i don’t even shave my legs, and I think i heard that’s a sign of depression and I’m empty inside but full of myself and why is that a bad thing;am I good or bad? Do I really have to be one or the other? So do you really want to know how I am, or should I just say “fine-how-are-you”?