Lydia Ink :: Cry

CRY

It seems the only time I can cry now, is when I’m angry

And that makes me so self-disdaining.

Anger is too close, I’m afraid, to self pity

And that makes me queasy.

I remember feeling, I remember emotion,

I remember.

I cried, broken hearted at the dying sparrow

Br-o-ken hearted.

Grandpa laughed and put his arm around me.

There-there, little girl, there-there.

I cried once at their mocking. Cried hard at their mocking,

A jeering, lovely, looking young man and his well-dressed girl friend.

My Dad serious and stern, hand on my shoulder;

That’s life, stop crying, be strong.

That’s what happens to unlovely people

Then we laugh too loud and hide in photographs.

I fight tears at funerals and family wonders why.

Weak and loud and never growing up –my eyes water.

So I swallow my sobs because I’m sorry, sorry I never measured up.

Sorry that all I have to offer is rejection.

And then I’m angry and I begin to cry…