Some Days I Dry Cry

Some days I dry cry. 

My arms ache to be hugged and my head throbs like it has it’s own heartbeat. 

But there are no tears that come to my eyes; The corners of my mouth do not rest. 

See I was taught to hold it in. 

All of it. 

The loudness I’ve learned was a careful peeling back of the spackling and wallpaper that keeps me all in. 

Self advocacy comes with consequences when you look like me. 

Second helpings become disgusted faces. 

Wet eyes become eye rolls from across the room. 

Slashed wrists become cries for attention as Band-Aids get tossed and doors get closed. 

These walls keep me safe. 

Some days I dry cry. Softens the paper so I can breathe but doesn’t ever dissolve it. 

Reminds me I’m not bricked in but that there are expectations. 

Being too much is a luxury I am not allowed but a description I’m assigned often. 

So in times of immense sadness I rely on the plaster to hold me together. 

Sadness and isolation become drive and ambition. 

Longingness for something more become motivation. 

The reframe is fabulous. 

You’ll have to try it; although I don’t recommend it. 

Some days I dry cry. This brings much relief to those around me. 

No needless conversations or tissue exchanges. 

The absorption power of thin walls muffles the stares of annoyance at emotional outbursts.

I’m lucky to have around me those that patch me up in the case of too muchness escaping. 

Although I feel as though I’ve earned the wet ugly cry, stabbing words from those who “love me” quickly remind me otherwise. 

Some days I dry cry. 

So here I sit. 

Trained well. 

Staring out into a world of connection. 

Alone. 

Smiling.

Again. 

And in my place. 

Reviews

[Kita Capri]

Beautiful! :) This piece is really moving