Tears

The eyes burn, worse than standing over the hot coils

Of a campfire, with the thick smoke rising up.

I fight for control, a battle to prove my strength to myself.

No one likes cry-babies.

And no one respects the weak.

One sob escapes, and like a house made of straw

Blown down by the big bad wolf,

I crumble to the cool wooden floor.

Eradicated by the dull pain,

The hot heavy turbid suffocating substance

That breaks out with a loud exhale that verges on a cry for help,

Directed at no one.

The tears stream down, a broken water tap,

Until I gasp for breath shakily, relieved by the flow.

There is no sadness – just an overbearing need to let go.

To release.

To detach from adjectives –

“weak”, “pathetic”, “lost”...

A tropical storm rages until the land is raped

And exhausted. But cleansed.

Ready to be new again.

The tears pour out until I stretch out on the floor,

Blissfully wiped out. Gratefully empty.

Absolved.