I like crying
Because I'm not allowed to
But since I'm not allowed
I
Can't.
Since you said
That crying isn't good
I physically can't do it
Even when need to
Even when I have to
Even when I want to
And when I do
I burst
Every feeling that was trapped
Explodes in rage
And they come out all at once
I don't try to hide the pain
Trust me
I want to let it out
I like the feeling
Of drowning in my own thoughts
When I was a child
I sat in my closet
And wrote in the diary
As each word was written
I flew farther and farther away
At that point
I only wrote when I cried
So I could let my tears
Fall on the pages
To 'prove' my sadness
I liked-
rephrase.
I like being sad
It could be because
It reminds me that I'm still alive
I still picture her
When she came in
She dragged me out of the closet
And sat me on my bed
My uncomfortable bed
She snatched my book
Skimmed through the pages
And pointed at the smudges
They messed up the words
Plus they were circled with black ink
So I gave a simple answer
"Those are my tears"
I glanced at my book
In her clammy hands
"I circled them to remember the pain"
Hugs
Are supposed to be nice, right?
Well I hated her hugs
They were rare
But I didn't miss them anyway
She softly said
"Aweee"
Then walked out
So I went back into my closet
Where I can sit in darkness
She left my diary on a shelf
And I haven't touched it since
But I always remember the circled tears
And when she sat in awe
Adoring my sadness
She made me believe,
That sadness is loved.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 8:04 PM UTC
I like crying
Because I'm not allowed to
But since I'm not allowed
I
Can't.
Since you said
That crying isn't good
I physically can't do it
Even when need to
Even when I have to
Even when I want to
And when I do
I burst
Every feeling that was trapped
Explodes in rage
And they come out all at once
I don't try to hide the pain
Trust me
I want to let it out
I like the feeling
Of drowning in my own thoughts
When I was a child
I sat in my closet
And wrote in the diary
As each word was written
I flew farther and farther away
At that point
I only wrote when I cried
So I could let my tears
Fall on the pages
To 'prove' my sadness
I liked-
rephrase.
I like being sad
It could be because
It reminds me that I'm still alive
I still picture her
When she came in
She dragged me out of the closet
And sat me on my bed
My uncomfortable bed
She snatched my book
Skimmed through the pages
And pointed at the smudges
They messed up the words
Plus they were circled with black ink
So I gave a simple answer
"Those are my tears"
I glanced at my book
In her clammy hands
"I circled them to remember the pain"
Hugs
Are supposed to be nice, right?
Well I hated her hugs
They were rare
But I didn't miss them anyway
She softly said
"Aweee"
Then walked out
So I went back into my closet
Where I can sit in darkness
She left my diary on a shelf
And I haven't touched it since
But I always remember the circled tears
And when she sat in awe
Adoring my sadness
She made me believe,
That sadness is loved.
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