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THOSE DAYS

I wake up crying.
I comb my hair and I’m crying.
I forgive myself through my tears.
I have a man who loves me and I am crying.
I am being supported and I am crying.
I say “cry it out’ and cry the day away.
I am crying as I write this.

I have good family and I’m crying.
I learned to cry early and often.
I have perfected crying. I may have invented it.
I laugh for a few seconds and go back to crying.
I paint and draw to work it out, and tears blur the ink.
There are a community of people who wish me well as I am crying
I think of how lucky I am and I cry.
I forgive myself for crying.

I take my vitamin supplements and cry.
When it seems that to die is the next step—I don’t—I cry it out.
Death is on equal footing with walking to the grocery store, so
I know I will not starve, and I cry.
I know moments I want to.
I soothe the moments and send them to bed to cry.
I reach out to someone who will listen to me cry.
I play happy music and cry.
I move my body while crying.
I refuse to feel shame.
I tell myself I would rather cry than hold it in.

I cry for the girl who can’t stop crying
There will be something else she needs in time.
Everything I do is to help her and
Nothing I can do can help her.
She knows what she wants of me and
does not care for my timelines or my ignorance.
She just goes on crying through bedtime.

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