Dec 2017
I don't know who these tears are for;
They're like the unsent letters on my desk.
I can't explain them;
They keep coming out
Of my eyes and hands
For the ones I cannot name.
They say and mean many things
But I can't show them to anyone.
They surround me
Like wild thriving grass after the rain.
I don't know who all these are for,
But I do know they are all from me.
They're like the unsent letters on my desk.
I can't explain them;
They keep coming out
Of my eyes and hands
For the ones I cannot name.
They say and mean many things
But I can't show them to anyone.
They surround me
Like wild thriving grass after the rain.
I don't know who all these are for,
But I do know they are all from me.
I cry and write for the ones who cannot do so. I find it hard to be kind to people. But does it make me kind when I can empathize so easily?
