I struggle to remember the faces for whom I cry
When I died that day,
I didn’t die.
I broke many parts but I survived.
All of me didn’t live either.
I carried the dead weight of grief with me for years.
That’s also why I cry.
At funerals where everyone else is dry-eyed.
When the bride begins to walk away.
In school, when children get on stage,
Crying brings me back from my dead.
I cry for grandmothers who didn’t stop to mourn.
For aunts who were gone before I was born.
I cry for children silenced by abuse.
I close my eyes not knowing where the tears come from.
I cry because no one else did.
Parents who hate and try to pass it off as love.
Children who are indifferent because feeling hurts too much.
Because we are strong.
We must move on.
We must get up and dust our hands.
I cry because it is an ocean inside.
I didn’t know it.
It surprises me.
Tears come in waves.
I struggle to remember the faces for whom I cry.
I cry because he never did.
I cry because he learned to laugh when he wanted to cry.
I cry because I want to stop him but I cannot.
I cry because it bothers him to see my tears.
It jolts him.
It might make him cry one day.