Tea for Teardrops

I suppose your tears are salty

Mine are made of glass

And they cut me as they fall, silver beads of blood like polka dots align my face like a perfect painting

Perfect?

Yes, of course, perfect. What else are you supposed to be?

I suppose I could sell my tears for millions

Give them to the people who are too numb to cry, hold them against their chest like a binding

I know pain is a straitjacket

It subjects you to the abuse of being so still

So quiet and you scream

But it's the kind of scream that has no sound because your anguish and your agony is too much for the air to bear

We are all burdens to ourselves

So for now, I will sit on my windowsill, my feet dangling over the edge and spend my life selling tea for teardrops