Do not wipe my tears,
kiss my forehead
tell me to
stop crying.

I will not stop those
fat tears that burn my cheeks
roll down my face and
pool in my collar bones.

Do not wipe my tears,
kiss my forehead
tell me to stop worrying.

I will not stop my worries
from filling my brain
spilling down into my stomach
where they lodge like a meal too heavy to digest.

Do not wipe my tears,
kiss my forehead
tell me to breathe deeply.

I will hold my breath until my lungs burn, until my skin starts to turn purple, until I can not help but gasp for breath.


Wipe my tears,
kiss my forehead, but
do not tell me how to be,
how to act,
how to feel.
Do not tell me.