We don’t dispel tears, as they are indicators of weakness–
You live in my uncried sobs.
Like leeches
We feed
We thrive
We need
Negativity.
Hearts beat rhythms we shake our asses to.
Feed our children to.
Back talk our grandmothers to.
These occurrences coincide with boys suppressing tears
Because men
Do not cry.
Concurrent with girls losing their virginity
To boys they don’t love
Because everyone else is doing it.
But in reality,
Who does “everyone” encompass?
We all have quelled that lump that forms in the blackest part of our throats.
The part that no water can saturate.
That no love can void.
To suppress a clear liquid reeking of anguish
From waltzing from our lower lash lines
To the spot on the floor between our feet.
I used to cry unforgivably.
Tears flowing endlessly like the river of the people.
Like the circle of life.
Each tear would birth an intangible emotion seeking purpose.
Only to be met with failure.
Sensitivity is frowned upon.
I’ve taken everything sensitive about me and imprisoned it in a far gone region in my heart.
So dark from lack of sunshine, that organisms have begun to contaminate it.
But I can’t seem to get rid of my sensitive teeth.
Incapable of speaking ill-intending phrases full of hatred and sorrow
With actual conviction.
Our souls are hollow.
Barren.
“Oh I’m fine”
Becomes equivalent to “You’re an idiot.
There’s no way you can sense my dissatisfaction.
My pain.
My heartache.”
We don’t dispel tears as they are indicators
of weakness.
