When I was 5,
I laid bed
and awoke screaming in fear.
You held  me until I was calm
looking at me with your brilliantly green eyes;
you smiled
and told me,
"You'll be okay."

I believed you.

When I was 9,
I laid in the dentist chair.
The silly man said
I had a cavity.
So you walked up to me,
and put my tiny hand inside yours
and you said,
"You'll be okay."

I believed you.

And when I was 15,
I laid in bed and cried
because I was bullied on the first day of highschool.
You walked in holding a box of tissues,
and you sang to me with your beautiful voice,
until I felt okay.

For a second I believed you,
thinking everything would be okay.

At age 17,
someone broke into our house.
As we hid in the closet
I laid frozen in fear.
The only thing keeping me calm
was the smell of your perfume.
As the smell started to fade,
you whispered,
"You'll be okay."

I believed you.

Now, I'm 23,
and you're the one laying down,
but this time,
you're in an old white hospital room
eating stale bread and mashed potatoes.
As you ate I watched you
and noticed;
the way the smell of mildew overpowers your perfume,
the way your sparkling green eyes sunk into your skull,
the way your fragile hands held my own.

Finally you glanced up at me,
smiling,
you said,
"I'll be okay -
believe me."