She is my smoke,
My lovely elusive clouds.
She smells like hemp and woman.
Her fingers swirl, her hair curls like tendrils of smoke.
I am too mesmerized by her beauty to be terrified of
how temporary she is;
How soon she'll disappear, leaving me grasping for something that was hardly ever there in the first place.

So don't tell me not to cry.
Let my eyes fill with puddles of sadness,
let the sadness leak onto my cheeks until the
sadness falls no longer.
Let me release the sorrow in my soul,
allow it to wash my eyes clean so I can see the world
through a fresher, happier lens.
Let my tears fall.

So maybe it'll never heal completely.
Maybe you'll forever hate those people who
took your vulnerability and used it to shatter you.
But maybe you'll think about it, talk about it, write about it
so much that eventually, it stops aching.
You don't get so angry anymore,
this time doesn't hurt quite as bad as last time.
And maybe once it stops throbbing and aching,
your heart will forgive them just enough that
your soul can find peace with them once more.