Will I be okay?
I truly wonder as I sit in the dingy bathroom sobbing.
My face is slick with tears and my throat is dry from crying.
After what seems like hours, the tears ran dry.
Time ticks.
I feel like a shattered pottery bowl, fallen into a million peices
because he didn’t want any part of me.

I will be okay.
I tell myself as I go through the rest of the day.
My house is empty of things that remind me of you and my eyes are free of makeup, just in case.
After what seems like hours, I’m with my friends, still not the same.
Time ticks.
I feel like a an unfinished art project, left alone
because he started something prettier.

I am okay.
I know, as I slip out of the house and check my reflection one last time.
My lips are red with lipstick and my head feels fuzzy with wine.
After what seems like hours, I’m better than ever.
Time ticks.
I am a finished art project, and I didn’t ever need him
to help complete me.

“You will be okay.”