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  • Writer's pictureYours Truly

Opa!



~


You say the rain is

beautiful,

yet you judge me for crying.


~


If I went to school with you,

chances are

you've probably seen me cry

(and I cry a lot).


I would like to thank those

who consoled me during

my epoch of sadness,

one that reached out before me

like bubblegum stretched

to ligaments between nervous fingers

(I don't chew gum often,

but those fingers belonged to me).


Your kindness

is remembered warmly.


But to those of you who

criticized me incessantly.

Called me

cry baby. overdramatic. weak. behind my back;


to those of you

who deliberately concealed

the truth from me--

unfortunate truths, they were

but truths that concerned

my reputation, nonetheless--

because you felt the need to

spare yourselves from the

discomfort and annoyance

my tears would bring you;


to those of you who

labelled me as if I were a

cardboard delivery box

containing fine china--

FRAGILE,

HANDLE WITH CARE


(REFRAIN FROM HONESTY):


your remarkable lack of compassion

serves you no purpose.

There is nothing noble

about making a satire of

other people's sorrow.

Being a stoic does not make

you stronger than me.


You cannot possibly comprehend

the strength I carry.


Many times I have shattered

and many times--

every time--

I have put myself back together again.


I conquer the Olympus of jigsaw pieces

that my heart has crumbled to,

place each fragment of myself

between my teeth,

letting the cardboard and paint

melt against my tongue

like Listerine breath strips.


Despite the bitter aftertaste of broken,

I feast until I am whole again.


I cry.


I lick my wounds.


And then I heal--


I always heal.


And my dreaded stoics,

you could heal too

if it weren't for your

self-righteous denial of

the deluge.


Watch me drink from its waters,

toast in acknowledgement to the pain.


My pain.


I let myself feel

as I am meant to feel.


I let myself break

as I am meant to break.


And I hope one day

you come to learn

that there is

nothing

braver than that.



~


Whenever I shatter,

the Gods scream

"Opa!"

in celebration.


Because they know very well that

broken I shall not remain.




 

Image Source:

Flowers and cutlery gif (n.d.). [image] Available at: https://giphy.com/gifs/art-hoppip-10QdySFACFc6VG [Accessed 11 Jul. 2019].

 
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