You bit your lip and waved at air.
You tugged your sleeve and pulled your hair.
Your face turned dark and filled with pain,
Your teeth ground down in heat and strain.

I understand. You need not speak.
It’s not your day. It’s not your week.
Our talking’s hard, but let me try;
You just must know: big girls don’t cry.

You are
(of course)
Not well.

That’s absence of being well,
Not the same as sick.

Life did it to you, you say?
Oh, really?
The reason does not matter, it’s
Just that you’re not well.