I cannot watch people cry,
I cannot watch them suffer as I know I have suffered,
Begging the world to have mercy on my sanity.
With their tears falling like the
The torrential downpour that nobody wants
Onto the table their head lies upon.
I cannot ignore these salty drops
That stain faces red and puffy
Because I know that rubbing your eyes only makes it worse.
I cannot help but go over, awkward but sincere,
And ask quietly, “Are you alright?”
While hoping that I’m not coming off as nosy and bizarre.
If my comforts are not rejected
I may end the conversation with your tears on my shirt
And your head in the crook of my neck.
My fingers gliding against your hair,
My arms rocking you gently
As a child is rocked by their mother.
I suppose that’s what I am then,
The mother hen worrying for her chicks
As they struggle to survive in a cruel existence.
Most of the time I don’t mind,
I even enjoy comforting my chicks
Because this gives me purpose.
Sometimes, not often,
I have to stop and wonder,
Who will be my mother?
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 8:52 AM UTC
I cannot watch people cry,
I cannot watch them suffer as I know I have suffered,
Begging the world to have mercy on my sanity.
With their tears falling like the
The torrential downpour that nobody wants
Onto the table their head lies upon.
I cannot ignore these salty drops
That stain faces red and puffy
Because I know that rubbing your eyes only makes it worse.
I cannot help but go over, awkward but sincere,
And ask quietly, “Are you alright?”
While hoping that I’m not coming off as nosy and bizarre.
If my comforts are not rejected
I may end the conversation with your tears on my shirt
And your head in the crook of my neck.
My fingers gliding against your hair,
My arms rocking you gently
As a child is rocked by their mother.
I suppose that’s what I am then,
The mother hen worrying for her chicks
As they struggle to survive in a cruel existence.
Most of the time I don’t mind,
I even enjoy comforting my chicks
Because this gives me purpose.
Sometimes, not often,
I have to stop and wonder,
Who will be my mother?
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