The Gift of Tears
You’d think the sound of your mind cracking would be more of a roar, a chaos of noise that rises to a deafening crescendo, but really it’s the smallest little snap, like a twig crushed underfoot
I’m a walking encyclopedia when it comes to all the ways a human body and mind can be hurt.
But without all our scars, we wouldn’t be who we are.
Whatever happened to love?
When did we lose the greatest gift of all?
Imagine compassion without action,
Imagine being without living.
It's Sunday morning,
The priest is talking about faith and hope and love.
My faith had long since gone.
I desperately wanted to hope, and I am terrified to love.
I think about the Siren on the other street,
All she's ever known is pain, in the hands of those who should love her, cherish her.
I know about pain and suffering, it’s that it never really ends.
Even as I stare at her clothed body, all I see is the marks on her back a stroke of perfection.
Perfection is the jagged edge of a rock,
The split ends of a tree root.
As I ponder on these, a bell dings in the distance marking the hour,
The priest is now talking about Peace.
A stained, strained dry chuckle struggles from my throat.
I could do with a dose of amnesia right about now
For the first time in forever rivulets of tears stream down my eyes, and soothes the ache in my chest
I'd been gifted the gift of tears
