Today, I am not an elegant crier.

Puffy-eyed and undesirable, helpless and sympathetic at best

But so quickly my eyes become drier

Though my poor aesthetic is an improvement unto itself.

Nine years old: disconnected

Tears are pathetic, a show of vulnerability

Give a show of being unaffected

I will remain impenetrable.

Won’t let them take advantage

Vision blurs and chest tightens, yet neutral faced

Overwhelmingly empty emotion but I can manage

My home is finally silent.

Foolishly took the hand of an empty words

Did not recognize reciprocity until it was too late

Sick of it and left the mindless herds

Am I okay?

Fifteen: connecting

Realize that it is not weakness that chokes me up

Ah, I’m crying

How beautiful.

   Group: Fastweb