my mom tended to boast of my upbringing in the sense that it was elementary
her definitive point being that I never cried.
legend says I was all beam and no whimper
and I had the most beautiful voice when I sang.
it tends to be a woe-some memory these days.
of late, instances where one could catch a genuine grin belonging to myself are slim to none.
my mom tends to jest on the subject, claiming I must be making up for lost time (and lost tears)
and maybe that's why she's avoided contacting a therapist.
she's yet to witness the worst of it.
crying on a schedule seems a bit insane until you take into account the secondhand anguish.
I'd rather cry alone than force someone else to hear my sobs
I'd rather mourn in isolation than bring similar energies out of others
it just tends to get desolate.
sometimes I slip up and my sorrow surfaces in an undesired way,
forcing others to witness my ugly truth.
these are the instances I dread
for shame and sorrow are lovers,
fingers intertwined, clasped around my throat as you watch me struggle to breathe.
I feel sad for my mom when she boasts of my demeanor as a child
I'm sure she misses seeing me smile instead of frown.