At the slightest sign of sadness,
you're offered a chocolate, a tissue, a hug.
And eventually everyone says that
"you're going to be okay,"
and "it gets better."
A few pats on the back and
a mug of warm tea later,
you're expected to smile back and say
"you're right, I'm fine now."

What no one tells you is
that it's okay to cry.
No one says it's okay to admit
that your world is crumbling
and you just need a minute to let it out.
I swear it is, it's always okay to be sad.
Don't listen to their clichéd
"you're too pretty to cry" or
"you're too strong to cry."
Look past their temporary comforts
and their good intentions.

It is always okay to be sad,
there is no shame in shedding tears.
Let the feeling in your heart
envelop you completely and
let yourself sink in your sorrow.
Clench your teeth and your fists, and
let your lungs siphon oxygen to your veins
in between each shuddering breath,
scream all that you hate
into the gaping void in front of you
and let the echoes of your suffering
reverberate and echo through
the gaping hole in your chest
and remember

it's okay.

It's okay.

It's okay to let yourself
into that nothingness,
so long as you come back.
Always come back.
Come out of the bathroom,
come out from under the sheets.
Come out of your self-mandated exile,
come into the open and breathe again.
Let the sunlight clear the darkness,
let the fresh air rejuvenate your lungs.

Remember what it was to be broken
and work to be whole again.

Remember that it's okay to cry.

Just promise me you'll always come back.

so much like the paper, it crumples
it remains untouched but has been molested
trying to close itself up, until you came and
tore open the stitches and shed the
protection
so much like the paper, it falls
leaning on the words of another to live
their inscribed marks upon its open skin
scars not marks, wounds not scars,
because the wounds have not
closed yet

We are more willing
To read palms
Than to read between the lines,
To want space but
We want to know what goes on in
Dark corners.

the beatles on vinyl,
the bright sun shining through our silk curtains,
***** clothes scattered about the room,
our skin sewn together in messy stitches,
your cologne adding a favorable twist to the scent of stuffy-room air,
the buzz of your hum flowing lightly with john's vocals.

she snaps her fingers in front of my face.

blink!

back to reality.