Up

“How are you?” they ask,

unaware at my inability

to let them know with unbridled passion 

that the highest hour of my day is the setting sun-

when silent screams of disinterest

merge into days that feel like

the weight of disappointment

tipped the scale.

“How are you?”

Able enough to say “I’m fine”,

each syllable heavily riddled

with an undertone of uncertainty.

Aware that the nuance of my fatigue

always has a lingering sense of privilege,

of the knowledge at how easy life should be

and the swaying guilt at the chance

that I’m making the cake walk difficult.

“How are you?”

How many words can I use to let you know

that I’m slowly learning to pull myself

out of the claws of expectations,

designed by concrete jungles

and hypothetical rat races?

That I need to discover solace

in the next spoonful of hope,

and not in the pressure cooker 

of constantly having to prove myself

to man-made laws?

“How are you???” they ask.

Finding myself at the end of a rope,

ready to climb it versus letting go.

Aware that sometimes,

the only way out

is the steep climb

up.

                                                                        ~N.V.