Random things that make me cry

droplet splashing the pavement
Photo by Sourav Mishra on Pexels.com

I don’t know why, but lately I’ve been in a mood called “feel like crying.”

At the finale of a tv series

at coming home from my brother’s soccer game that he won

at a graphic novel

at a song

at waking up

at thinking about this summer, this August,

the prospect of my siblings’ graduation;

but hey,

don’t worry,

I don’t actually cry,

I’m fine, I got this under control.

But if I did

(Because if I did),

if the first tear plummeted past my eyelashes,

then my whole heart would come tumbling down too–

rivers run wild

mess on the couch at midnight

ribs so yawningly empty

nothing could ever fill the lake of me up again,

nothing could revive the fishies or fix the concrete walls,

just a gaping what even

what even what now–


I demand coherence outta you.


A breath could knock me over.

Send me careening into the canyon of “not okay” mentally, go drowning in the water at the bottom.

I mean,

“not okay” like skipping meals to study the urge to skip meals, figure out why the urge exists.

I mean,

go on a walk and just keep walking until it’s dark then just keep walking more.

I mean,

don’t sleep at all tonight, just skip that step, I’ll be tired tomorrow morning anyway.

I mean,

make no effort to reach out to anyone, they don’t care about the things I care about and I know that.

I mean,

I could go careening into mental “not okay” space

but it’s literally all in my head–the canyon, my breath, the wind–

and I’m too aware of what unhealthy looks like

to let myself

fall out of shape

in this lucid dream of life,

plus, if I fell apart,

I’d ache like a lake devoid of liquid

fishies silently screaming

until I bottled it all up again.

I don’t want to ache like that, you know?

So I hold myself up from falling to a breath.

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