I can’t cry.
or rather I won’t allow myself to.I can remember the very few times I’ve allowed myself to.
I bawled my eyes out when I was thirteen;
when my mom moved out after the divorce.
I weeped like a baby when I was eighteen;
when my beloved grandmother passed away.
I shed a few tears when I was nineteen;
when I was in the ICU and my mom was crying
after news from the doctors that I might not survive the night.
But every now and then.
There’s this crumbling feeling that churns my innards.
This unbearable feeling that everything’s going to shit.
I try to cry.
But I don’t.
Perhaps it’s pride.
Just because I don’t break down,
It doesn’t mean I don’t fall apart.
because I have and I do;
on numerous occasions.