Where The Grass Grows

Feel

I feel deeply
And ever so brutally
Some—namely my father—would call me pathetic
They'd say my tears are all the proof they'd ever need
To say that I am small
Weaker than
And impressionable—if not naive

I feel every emotion
Even the simple —or not so simple— in between
The nameless feelings that seem so infeasible
And yet there I am holding them within my palm
Watching them seep in through the grooves
Making a home out of me

I feel the tears as they burn my cheeks
An ache that pumps through my heart
And in the end pours from my throat
In deep, seething screams
That once heard are unforgotten

I feel the anger as it rises
It's hot and it's wild
It burns the tip of my tongue
And sets my very being on fire

I feel the joy as it rests
Like a spring and baby's laughter
It turns my cheeks pink
And makes my heart flutter

I feel the in between
The not amazing and the neither and the not half-bad
The nothingness
Even in nothing I'll feel it completely

My mother has said this will be my ruin
I will love too much
And that will break my heart
Which I will feel completely
And all too much
And then it will leave me in shambles
Feeling will be my ruin

But I would much rather feel
Deeply, brutally, and ungentle
Than feel nothing at all

Is it possible that my very ruin
Will be the thing that saves me.