you let the tears f a l l
drip, pattering softly,
onto your scuffed jeans.
you let out a low sob,
a sob that could easily
be confused with a m o a n.
a moan of sorrow, of hurt,
of pain, of sadness, and
most of all, of h e a r t b r e a k.
r e l i e f washes over you
as the drowning of pain
is overcome by your tears.
there's nothing better than to cry,
and you don't have to be
a s h a m e d of it anymore.
it is o k a y to feel hurt,
as what can be good without
some sort of s u f f e r i n g.
- b.c
YOU ARE READING
scintilla
Poetryscintilla, sin/till/ah. a tiny trace or spark of a specified quality or feeling. another collection of poems by bec g. crawley.
