“It’s Okay.”

It’s a simple mistake in wording.

You cry

and cry

and cry

and cry

and to ease your fears, 

to stop your tears, 

I say

“Don’t cry.” 

“You’re alright.”  

“It’s okay.”

Those words hold the power to shape your future.

One where you’ll skin your knee, and you’ll be afraid to let the tears fall.

You’ll lose the race, and you’ll bite back disappointment, replacing sadness with anger. 

My words erase your feelings and write the lie you’ll spit back to me in the backseat of the car after school.

“How’s everything going?” 

“It’s okay.”

Mama won’t let you inherit her knee-jerk reaction.

Instead, I’ll remind you each day of the words we both need to hear, most of all.

“You’re safe in my arms.”

“I’m here to help you.”

“I love you, &”

“It’s okay to be not okay.”