I want nothing more than to breakdown
in someone's arms
Fall apart and be put back together
the way that people do

All it needs is a small admission
A few simple words in relative silence
Pushing air up from diaphragm
to throat, out through contorted
tongue and lips

I feel how easy it would be to open my
mouth and let the words
escape in a rush
Teetering on the edge, mouth opening and closing
I am too afraid and too uncertain and
the filter in my throat is clogged from
years of repression

Just one teeny tiny confession

They say great men are forged in flames
so give me fire
give me a raging inferno
give me anything but these
tantalising embers
and smoking coals.
I want to burn.
I want to burn.

There is a fire in my bones
it grows, quite slow, still grows, it rose
from spark to flame it is my name
to love the broken all the same
their tears, their hurt, their loss are mine
so I'll care.
I'll care.

My fight is long and weary mind
a bitter war waged strong in times
yet fire is quenched, coals cease to glow
the sun is blurred above, below
I'm drowned beneath the grating waves
do I care?
I care.

It's not a heat to douse at will
somehow it's deep within me still
it rages on, my fierce inferno
but nowhere for the smoke to go
my blackened lungs starve me of air
and I care.
I care.

I'm suffocating, can't seem to breathe
as the roiling waves begin to seethe
at the senseless violence I can't escape
eyes stinging, tears streaming, never assuaged
no candle in the darkness
only I care.
I care

And the anger drains me while waiting and watching
the singed stars plummet, falling and fearing
this world, torn to pieces, is crashing and burning
bile razes my weary body, retching and cursing
my heavied heart hurts with the hatred
and still I care.
I care too much.

It seems to me
that as people get older
they mature
not like fine wine
but getting more stale
and more bitter
with each passing year.
Coffee, perhaps?

I tell myself:
New year
New place
New you

I tell myself that here I will
flourish
I will find my people for life
I will be a better person

I tell myself that this is the best
chance I've got of finally living not
just existing

Deep breaths

I push myself
to say yes
join in
loosen up

But it is tiring
and I feel myself falling into old habits
and I feel myself distancing and
slowing down

And I realise that maybe people cannot
change with a snap of their fingers

I tell myself that I am lazy
Freak
That something inside of me is broken for
no reason

I tell myself that I am the problem

I tell myself that I will fix that problem
Next year, next stage, next life
New me
Not now
Not yet

Children should not be left to cry alone.

They need someone beside them, even if it won't solve the problem. [Many problems cannot be solved.]

They need someone to stroke their hair and hold their hand,
to dry their tears and wipe their snotty noses.
They need someone to tell them it is going to be ok, even when it isn't going to be ok. [Especially when it isn't going to be ok.]

There is a little girl crying alone.

She does not muffle the sound of her crying. She wants her parents to hear.
She thinks that if they hear her crying, they will finally understand, and they will make everything alright.
Or maybe they will stroke her hair and hold her hand. [That would be alright.]

They don't come.

Maybe they can't hear her. Maybe they're busy. Maybe they didn't notice. [Maybe they don't care.]

They aren't coming.

The little girl's tears trickle off her cheeks,
making her pillow damp,
making her skin sticky with the salt. [She falls asleep.]

They don't come.

[There is a young woman crying in her childhood bedroom. Briefly, she worries about the embarrassment of her parents finding her here, crying like a little girl. They don't come. She laughs.]