I will not cry…

I will cry, and that’s okay.

I understand this is not your way…

To hand me a tissue, when you see me on the train….

When a tear slides down my cheek,

As my forehead hugs the window pane.

 

But if I cry, I can promise you …

My spirit will not die.

It isn’t a game. It isn’t a lie.

But there must be shame, if I choose to cry.

 

I stare deep into the back of my tired, wrinkled hands…

Suddenly I’m reminded I am older…

Each line a flashback of my error…

Lights remain off to neglect the tainted face in the mirror.

So I can feel nothing…

But I feel everything.

 

I look for the post-it notes on the walls…

Of inspirational quotes, Of affirmations… to fool me into believing I am free.

That I can be free….

If I want it… Freedom…. If I work for it.

If I take it. No one will give it to me.

Perhaps it is an allusion, an incomprehensible yearning for something impossible.

 

Forgetting that these walls are the box, the prison, I create…

Hoping for someone to give this gal a break.

I tell myself I am not going to cry.

But there is a new-found solace in this pain. In these tears.

That’s the aim.

Moments of joy are met with sorrow….

Moments of glee are joined with feelings of guilt.

It isn’t a game. It isn’t a game.

 

There is comfort in my tears.

But you scold me towards these fears.

Show me that I should be punished because of my pain.

That I must feel pain, for feeling pain.

That’s the consequence for revealing my truth.

And then you tell me not to cry.

To fear that “evil eye.”

To save face. To emulate grace.

That governs and beseeches us in all possible ways.

 

I look to the Moon

To circumvent my mood…

The Moon is always on my side.

Yet, He only comes out when He feels it’s right.

Like everyone should. “Come out.” When they feel it’s right.

It is never the right time to come out.

We’re told, we are never right to shout.

Speak softly or do not speak.

Silence is prominence. Silence is servitude. Silence is grace. Silence is peace.

But Silence is also failure. Silence is also surrender.

Surrender to what?

To the pain? To the punishment for expressing pain? To the pain and punishment?

 

We won’t ever win it seems.

So I yield my screams.

I yield, when I need to scream and shout….

Inside I know I am screaming…

For you to hear my cry.

For you to hear me say it…. My plea to survive….

And that I don’t want to die.

 

So Hear it now. I am alive. I surrender. At this moment.

So Hear it now. I am alive. I surrender. I commit. I’ll submit.

So Hear me now. I am alive. I surrender.

 

Please.

You must let me cry.

 

 

Peace, Warmth, and Blessings,

Elsa

Warrior KQueen

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