i don’t cry because
i am saving up my tears
for my own funeral.
because my own self
is the only one who
deserves the grief
that i have been feeling
since when i was a kid.
not the toy of mine that the bullies
threw away,
not the pages of my poems that
was burned down to ashes,
not the friends that i lost connection
with as we try to unlock what
life can offer to us.
i don’t cry because
i need something else,
something bigger than
the tragedy that i go through
on a daily basis.
something that will invert
my internal organs when
i think about it and
has the ability to
unalive me from the inside.
something that will make me
punch the wall,
because of the excruciating
pain that i feel deep down
my heart, until my
knuckles fall off.
something heavier
than the clouds when it’s raining.
something louder, brighter
than the thunders and lightnings.
something scary,
and pitiful at the same time.
something beautiful,
something warm,
paradoxical.
and that thing
is myself.
YOU ARE READING
Found This Book Somewhere In The Forest
Poesía"Talk to my soul later midnight, when the moon's at its peak. That's the only way of communication that I know, because my physical lips will stutter if I told you about how I want to tear my human skin apart and go out."
