"I WISH"

I WISH I COULD

I wish I could say that I’m fine, 

the same kind of fine that everything is even when I’m worried it’s gone to hell, but it’s not.
It’s the kind of fine that I say I am when I go upstairs at the end of the night and I lay in bed silently weeping.
I wish that I was the way I say I am.
Because I say I am fine and happy and nothing is bothering me, especially not that one thing that someone on the bus 2 years ago said to me that hurt my feelings.
I wish that really wasn’t bothering me and that I wasn’t thinking about the time I came downstairs and heard the whispers from them saying how I needed to calm down and quit being dramatic because that’s why people don’t trust me.
I wish those things would be forgotten just as easily as the faint memories.

I wish that they would just dissolve like my confidence does every time that someone asks how I’m doing even though I convinced myself before that I would ask for help.

I wish, I wish, I wish. I ran out of wishes. 

Maybe I didn’t hold onto the wishbones long enough for them to work, or maybe I didn’t blow the dandelion fuzz hard enough for it to count, and maybe I never quite crossed my fingers hard enough when I was wishing on the stars because none of them came true. 

Maybe I used all of wishes when I was young and hoping for five more minutes at the park, or that we would be dessert tonight, that the rain would go away so we can go play, so that I didn’t have to go first when we all stood up on the first day of school and introduced ourselves. 

If I could have a wish now, I wouldn’t wish for those things anymore. 

I would close my eyes and cross my fingers right and say 

‘I wish that I could be the kind of happy I say I am’