I am sure I first cried when I came out of the womb, not emotional crying, that came later.
When I was seven, I’d cry myself to sleep wishing my body was beautiful.
When at the age of eleven I found out my sister had harmed herself, I cried, pleading with her to stop.
When I first harmed myself, I cried, pleading with my brain to take the hurt away.
Sometimes I cry until I fall asleep because what else is there to do?
I turned 15 the day I found out my grandfather had died, and I cried, but I could not shed a tear at the funeral. I think my eyes were too dry by then.
Sometimes I cry over the stupidest things. Like if I turned in an assignment late or if my mother loves me.
I even cried when my girlfriend said she’d always be there for me, and she held me while I did.
I have not yet mastered the art of crying, because my tears always feel like too little too late, or too much too soon.

I dated a boy this year who was more difficult to understand than any girl I’ve ever dated. He always wanted to be with me, which isn’t a bad thing, I guess, unless you’re in school, and you’re trying to focus, and he’s starting to become controlling and clingy.
It started slow, with hugs every time I would walk to my other classes, and that was sweet. Then it grew to ten hugs in half an hour of seeing each other. And maybe it’s because I’m gay and didn’t realize it yet but he just got on my nerves all of the time.
When we had only been dating for a few weeks, he said
“I love you”
And I told him I didn’t love him back. I said it was too early and we were young and I was still figuring things out. He said
“I guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you get used to it and say it back”
I couldn’t seem to explain to him how angry that sentence made me, or how toxic it sounded, and he continued to tell me, at least five times a day
“I love you”
I had not told my first girlfriend that I loved her, ever. I hadn’t told my second girlfriend until we’d been together for three months. I guess I should have told him then that we had to break up, that it wasn’t working. Instead, I gave in, I said
“I love you”
back to him. And that made him happy, but it made my insides coil every time I thought about him. Still, I did not break up with him. I thought I needed him for some reason. Because as much as I hated it, he did tell me he loved me, and I hadn’t heard that in a long time.
So when he began to say things like
“My girl”
Or
“She’s mine”
Or calling me
“Babe” unironically,
I let it go. I thought it’s just a show of love. When I did tell him not to call me babe, he called me that the next day. He never seemed to remember when I told him things like that.
But he did tell me he loved me, however cheap those words were. I didn’t think about the fact he’d probably said that to his other eight girlfriends before me too.
The day I broke up with him, I told him I was still trying to figure out my sexuality. He replied,
“Fine, it’s not that big of a change anyway, from pan to gay, we'll just rewrite that in the books”
And that was when I knew that I was doing a good thing in breaking up with him. Because that relationship was not healthy, and I wasn’t happy.
He and I are still friends I guess, but not really. We don’t talk anymore, and I think that was always a problem we’d had.

the hallway bathroom and i
have recently become close again
she is a friend to me
in all of the worst ways

when my body grows too big,
the bathroom is always there
waiting for me to come back
to need her again

when no one wants to see my tears
she cradles me in her arms
lets me sit on her marble tiles
lean close to her porcelain seat

i whisper secrets to her
let her see all of my tears
and she comforts me
lets me empty everything into her

she tells me what i am doing
is alright, it won’t hurt anyone
my secrets are safe with her
but i don’t feel safe with her

no one else will hear me
no one uses the hallway bathroom
maybe that is why
she always holds me so tightly

she whispers secrets back to me
every once and a while
she’ll tell me that she’s missed me
that it’s been too long

or she’ll say that i am finally back
where I belong
with her, but still alone
and sometimes she’ll even give helpful tips

“it’s easier to ***** if you plug your nose”
“if you try one more time, you’ll feel better,
despite the burn in your throat”
“just once more, remember to breath this time”

we have always had a strained relationship
the hallway bathroom and i
but i always seem to crawl back to her
and she is always ready for me

i do not believe in god
i haven’t for about as long
as i’ve known the easter bunny
isn’t real

still, i woke up this morning
i sat with my family
looked through easter baskets
and watched the catholic mass on tv

it is not important for me
to impose my beliefs
on my younger siblings
they’ll figure things out in their own time

still, i can’t help but wonder
why our parents believe
stories of an all-powerful god
over tales of a magical bunny

why they think letting us know
and believe in santa
or the easter bunny
is only for childhood

but we should always believe
in the man in the sky
who we can’t see, but for some reason
loves us

as far as i can tell,
it’s just another tall tale
and that’s not me telling you you’re wrong
only that i’m not sure you’re right

My parents do not know
That I had my first girlfriend
Before I ever had a boyfriend

They do not know that seventh grade
I thought I was bi, which evolved into pan,
Which is now queer/gay

I had my first girlfriend
In seventh grade
When she asked me to date her

We didn’t do anything really
I never even kissed her
But I guess we were only thirteen

She is now a he, but still
He means the world to me because
He taught me not everything is black and white

Now I know girls can be friends or foes
But they can also be enemies or lovers
And they can be everything else in between

So thank you to Kris
For helping me learn and grow
You are truly special and beautiful

there is a cleansing nature to crying
to washing your face with saltwater
when my tears flow down my cheeks
i feel a freedom in letting them go
in no longer fighting to hold them in

when a tear rolls from my eye
it first touches soft lashes
trying to hold it in, keep me clean
and then the lashes bend
make room for the water to flow

it hits my cheek softly
a release of pain, not the cause
the tear moves slowly,
traveling from cheek to mouth
and leaves behind a trail of hurt

i taste the salt and ignore the pain
the bursting feeling in my chest
my lips move as if of their own will
move the way they do as I apply glosses
letting there be no trace of sadness

after the warmth sinks into my soul
and the tightness leaves my chest
i look into the mirror
i rinse my face once more, with cooling water
dry my face and eyes again

the only thing left of the tears
is the feeling of relief on my heart
the slight tint of red in my eyes
and the knowledge that this
will not be the last time