Intimate With Tears.

Dear Tears,                                                                                                                                                                 

I thought today that I would write to you.  Ask you why you are here on the brink?  I felt I ought to soften, not bare down on my lip against you.

I want to know your pain.  I want to hold you, not contain you.

For you to flow down my cheeks, a warm caress upon my freckles.  I want you to be known.

Tears … why are you here again?  And so soon from yesterday … and the day before and the day before…

Tell me your pain.  I am listening.

I am feeling so much and yet nothing.  A pendulum that swings in between complete overwhelm into an abyss of nothing, just numb.

What is the point in feeling it I yell? What does this change?

 I am tired.

Tired of the struggle.

I need flow, room to grow.  I want to grow struggle free.

I do not seek the fight or desire it.  Yet still it’s horns find me and toss me into the air, to land yet again in this fucking unknown.

So what now? Yes, what now?

Do I have to pick myself up again?  Really?  Find another way?  And for the sake of who and what?

Of course my children. No question that giving up is not an option when I pull the ghosts of their tiny hands, the smell of their breath into my mind, my heart.

Yet, there is something else: A part of me, that actually right now simply angers me… A stubborn me, who digs her bare feet into the ground, her fiery hair tangled wet across her face … And shouts “NO” at me. “We will not give up. Not now! Not ever! Do you hear me?”

Why I ask? Why are you so set on not giving up! Just throwing it all in?  You were given a ticket out and you declined it?!!

She pulls the wet tangles off her face, defiant, so I can see her more clearly …

And with her eyes firmly fixed upon me, she replies…

Because I love you. ♥️





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Michelle Roberton

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