It Can Be Ok

It hurts me to see you fight with yourself.      
You are ok. You are ok.      
I will say it again because, you are ok.      
I mourn for you and all you've seen,   
for what you'll never find the words to say.      
You don't know the luxury    
of losing your composure.      
You don't know the bliss,    
of being the class clown    
who gets laughed at    
but only because you,    
yourself, command it.      
You don't know the pleasure    
of no stipulations or no critique.    
Accept my love.      
Accept my: flawed, imperfect    
but entirely yours, love.  
Just realize how ok you are,  
because I'm in love    
with how ok you are.