On Melancholy Hill
I wonder if you can see your reflection in the tears that roll down my face. One by one, slowly. Dried up on my cheeks. Each one appears as a failure of my attempt to hold them back. I grieve the tears that have left my soul. Can you see it? The wounds in my spirit. The pain I harbor. Embodied in my — so—called resilience. Do you feel it? I watched the grass move around me. Dried flowers still dance in the wind. Lost spirits ruffle the leaves with no breeze. The wind still whispers sometimes, “take it a day at a time”. I feel shame in the tears I shed. I look down when I stand. I cry when I sit. The tears appear from the burdens of my inner child. He’s still running inside of me, away from a world that never provided complete safety. I’m a vessel, wounded by the things that I carry.
