𝟏𝟔 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑𝐒.

24

they are silent they are visible

my tears tell the story that my words never can they speak of every moment
that i am unable to write with these hands these tears that flow every cry calls for you spilling onto my pillow drowning me in puddles making my sheets damp as each drop seeps through my pillowcase holds the story
of all the nights i've spent pouring
my heart & soul into my poetry
writing about whether or not you'll return back home to me but
if you saw my tears they would spell out your name if you felt them you would feel a glimpse of my withheld emotions & unannounced pain if you wipe them away then maybe you would understand
how every tear created by you, was waiting to be caught in your hands my tears
leave a trail that trace to wherever you stand these cries leave behind
any kind of love or affection shown from any well intended man for they desire no other love & no greater sort of hate however whatever manages to come from you my cries deem each tear to be okay