Strangers at the Door

I want to cry,

but you keep asking—

What exactly are you crying for?

Did you lose something?


That is it.

I do not know.


But I do know

I am crying for what should have stayed.

I am crying for the hanging dreams I keep leaping to grab.

I am crying for the unlikely strangers at the door,

their mocking grins taunting me

as I heave into the toilet bowl with all my heart,

with no one holding my hair.


And when you ask again,

What exactly are you crying for?

I know what it is:


I cry

because I am too heartbroken

to fight off the disappointment

and the shame.


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