As I stand on that muddy grass field,
The roar of the cheering crowds
Is all I seem to hear.
No specific voices; it's all just a blur.
The only person I really notice
Is the yelling of my coach.

As I go to challenge the ball,
I think, "I want my coach to be proud of me."
The ball is at me feet, I have to be quick.
I dribble up the side of the field,
Cut in and cross, one touch,
From another player, and goal!
I know my coach is proud of me
From just one look.

Walking to the car,
Ball in hand, covered all in mud,
I receive compliments on a great game.
I say thanks, but all that matters
After the game winning goal
Is that one look from my coach.

I cry for countless things
For birds with broken wings
For toys left by growing kids
For discarded wedding rings

I cry for characters on screen
Personas I've never truly seen
Whose stories echo familiar
With wisdom that I might glean

I cry for broken hearts
For unsuccessful starts
For fields of wildflowers
That are staked then ripped apart

I cry for rivers that can't be crossed
I cry for things not yet lost
And even within remarkable love
I cry, knowing what love will cost

I have a friend who cries
For rose-tinted skies
For the first looks given
From a newborn babies eyes

She cries for happy endings
And noble, generous spending
She cries for torn friendships
That are slowly but surely mending

She cries from staggering laughter
Or jumbled kitchen disasters
Or while attempting obscure talents
That we both know she never will master

I think it's something special
To have tears so freely deployed
At the sight of heartbreak and beauty alike
What a gift, to cry for joy.

What I see in her brings tears to my eyes
I crave that untethered jubilee
And in my longing, I realize
The beginnings of it in me

Look, I smashed them all together!
Look, I tore it all to tatters!
Look, I sewed it all back together!

Look, I wasn't familiar with the formula.
Look, I didn't understand the directions.
Look, I lost the thread all connecting.

Look, look!

I grew up in the shadow of my mother’s cries,
a symphony of pain echoing through thin walls.
My father’s rage was a storm I could not calm,
locked away in my room, a prisoner of helplessness.

I trained my ears to listen for the silence,
for the absence of that horrible sound meant safety.
In the sweltering heat of summer,
I turned off the fan, closed the window,
sacrificing comfort to keep my vigil.

The stillness was my shield,
my ears scanning, always scanning,
for the sound that shattered peace.

I wondered, if my mother had been different—
empowered, independent, unyielding—
would she have escaped the blows?
Would I have been spared the scars of witnessing?

But no, her submissiveness was not the crime.
The fault lay in the hands that struck,
in the heart that chose cruelty over love.

And yet, I confess, I dream of a submissive wife.
Not to dominate, not to harm,
but to prove, to myself and to the world,
that gentleness deserves tenderness,
that softness is not a weakness to exploit.

I will love her properly, care for her deeply,
respect her fully, treasure her words like a melody,
and hold her thoughts as close as my heartbeat.
I will be kind without condition.

For if I do not, it would be as if I blamed my mother
for the sins of my father.
And that, I cannot bear.

Yes, I celebrate the empowered, the independent,
the women who rise, unbroken, against the tide.
But let us not forget:
a submissive woman is not a flawed woman.

She, too, deserves love, care, and kindness.
She, too, deserves to be safe,
to have her voice respected,
her opinions valued,
and her dignity upheld.

For the fault of abuse lies not in the victim,
but in the hands that wield it.
And in my hands, I vow to hold only gentleness,
to break the cycle,
to honor my mother’s tears
by creating a world where no one has to cry.

At this point "I
Might cry"
Is my
Catchphrase;
You can probably
See
It on my face
But there's this urge for me
To just point it out
And make everything about
Myself or at least that's how
It works in my head.
But for now
There isn't much else for me to say
Instead (****).
Finish off with a laugh
So they know
Just how deep they've to go
Because smiles don't mean
A thing if you've been
In most people's shoes.
And usually
The
Attempt at making it a joke
Is a good one
So we brush it off as fun
Conversation--
The guilt starts to set
In but luckily I don't get
The spotlight
That I had wished for at first
So everything's alright
And I didn't spoil your night.

In the night sky, a tear takes flight,
Like a shooting star, it glimmers bright.
A fleeting moment, a whisper of pain,
Yet in its journey, there's beauty to gain.

Each drop that falls, a wish on the breeze,
A spark of hope among the dark trees.
Though they vanish, like dreams in the air,
Their light lingers softly, a reminder to care.

So let each tear shine, then fade from your sight,
For even in sorrow, there’s magic in night.

i’m sorry
that i crumbled walls that we built standing up in a time of depression
an immediate regression
of faults and “i’m so terribly sorry”
you could’ve held me
i could’ve been your girl
if i didn’t take the sharp end of the sword
and push it in your back
as you let out a yelp
i’m sorry i wish i would’ve asked someone for help

to help bandage you up
those broken twisted bones
i was selfish
and opaque
i couldn’t let you stay
in a haven built just for my oppressive skeleton
build you some magic
then take it and grab it
and force it away
now i’m stuck in the same
pattern of anger
and “i knew you better”
no one can fix this
not bandages nor warm weather

i’m so sorry i’m selfish
i turned us to dust
no, i never loved you
i just wanted to be loved
someone to touch my back
and reassure me
make sure that i am the one in their favorite dreams
about becoming the hero
and being superior
you scraped your knees on my concrete
my hard rock consistency
you shattered my pattern of irregularity
but i never made it over the wall we built
with our sweaty fingers and our puffy cheeks
till it crumbled at my feet
and i slowly stepped over it
just for me to see you
stuck in the rubble.
you reached your hand out,
but i completely ignored it
i’m sorry, my darling, i hope you don’t hold it
against me forever
cause i would’ve loved you better.

i could’ve loved you better.


i should’ve loved you better.