I may hide my face when I cry but please
do not ever understand that as an act of contrition.
when you weep, your hurt is something sacred.
do not ever be ashamed.
I will sing you to sleep with that song that says
when you weep the world cries with you, that the ocean is a sea of tears
shed for the pleasure of sharing your pain.

I have been springing leaks from other people
for as long as I have had fingers to plug the cracks,
spent many hours wrestling with the rusted faucet of my feelings.
I have never learned how to turn it off.
I know your sadness seems like a suit
custom-made to fit but I also know you as
a girl who is capable of growing. spread your shoulders. tear the seams.
there is a certain satisfaction that comes from the destruction
of everything you were supposed to love but never did.

I should know.
I spent last night with only the seam ripper to talk to,
shedding the last of my dovetail layers.
we both know sharp objects keep their secrets well but if you listened closely
you might hear it whisper about how it pricked my finger
and found poetry in my veins.
You will find that people write things that make you want to believe them
and that sometimes belief will hurt too,
but I promise you the things you place in the palms of hope
will be given back in the shape of other people’s hands.

And I know there are days when your sugar plum feet
are raw and melting from the puddles
but just remember that sometimes words are made of letters
that we can slide into each other from
and a crack between two people is just
a new seam waiting to be sewn.