HE
He ever says he is okay,
Although he preaches,
It’s okay to not be okay,
He will never say when he is not,
Maybe it’s the eyes you give,
Or this pity you paint on his pain,
That makes him feel a little less,
Competent and strong,
He ever says he is fine,
Fair like a little drizzle off a sunny day,
A small tear in an otherwise strong seam,
Or a lopsided shoelace knot
Maybe it’s easier to make believe,
That the things he fights inside,
Are domesticated demons he calls friends,
If only to never have to let them out
He never says he is not okay,
Because he showed you once,
He yelled his loudest for you,
But you let him drown, trying to break the surface
He never says he is not fine,
Because if he can face the fire,
Dying from the smoke,
Won’t be the mark of dishonour,
He never says he is not,
For what he is, holds more value,
Yet what he is not is his cross to bear,
And one he is crucified on.
~Frankhie
