I could never understand why my sister never cried as much as I did
Books, poetry, music, strangers on the side walk
I would think of these things
And I would cry
But my sister never did
And I worshipped her
So I tried to stop
I tried to be tough
As I grew up and the tears continued I would harshly rub them away with my sleeve
Embarrassed
Ashamed

Im starting to see however, how necessary tears are
How either the emptiness or fullness inside me needs a way out
I still worship my sister
But I think all these years she’s had it wrong
I don’t want to be ashamed of my tears
I want them to fall from my eyes like leaves in the autumn and I want them to be real and raw
I want to watch them stain my cheeks
I don't want to wipe them away
And I want to think
I am alive
I am alive
I am alive
I am sometimes empty
I am sometimes full
But I am not weak
I am not ashamed
I am connected to the sadness and joy all around me
And I am alive
I am alive
I am alive