The F-Word
When you ask me how I’m doing, I say
FINE.
But what I really mean is
I’m tired of this job but too old to change careers.
I’m worried that the stress will cause my mind to break like my dad’s.
I’m anxious that I can’t afford to send my kid to college.
I’m scared that when I go to the doctor the cancer cells will have spread.
I’m afraid that no one will ever sleep on the right side of the bed.
I’m terrified that this is my life, and this is all it will ever be.
3 thoughts on "The F-Word"
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.
Oh man! Gut wrenching. How little and much we pack into one word. Thank you for sharing with us! Next time someone says Fine, I’m going to ask them some follow up questions in honor of this poem.
Thanks for the feedback, Chris. The next time I ask someone how he is doing and he says, “Terrible,” I’ll be sure to ask some follow-up questions too. Hope you are okay.
I never know how to answer that question either.