Tears.
The word makes me scoff.
Who would suggest that I,
of all people,
would cry?
I never cried as a child.
I wasn't allowed to cry.

For most people childhood
brings good memories
of fun times.
For me
it brings memories of self hatred
and taunts.
I can still remember
their screams and shouts
As they battled it out below.
All I could ever do was call the police,
And make them take it away.
But I could never cry,
I wasn't allowed to cry.

I could always hear a voice in my head
A voice
filled with all of my hate and fear,
saying one thing:.
Weak.
I didn't want to be weak.
Being weak meant more taunts.
I didn’t want more taunts.
So,
I didn't cry
and I told myself that one thing;,
I'm not allowed to cry.
I wasn't allowed to cry.

We used to play nice.
Then that cycle came back,
Again
and again
and again.
But still I could never cry,
for crying was weak.
I wasn't allowed to cry.

I remember one Easter
In particular.
My sister told me
That she wished
I had never been born
And that I would die.
I ran downstairs in tears.
I felt like a fool.
I had broken my only rule.
I wasn't allowed to cry.

I always thought it was weird
When people cry
Reading books,
watching movies,
Or at weddings.
I'm not allowed to cry.
I never did cry.
I wasn’t allowed to cry.

It's awkward when people cry
In front of me.
I try to brush it off,
To scoff and call them
“‘drama queens”’
Or “'weirdos”’
But it puzzles me.
Am I deformed?
What's wrong with me?
Why can't I cry?
Then I remember.
I'm not allowed to cry.
So I don’t
After all,.
I wasn’t allowed to cry.

Growing up was a grapple for attention.
When I got shoved aside
and teased
I always came back
Tring to prove myself.
But I couldn't cry
when they teased and taunted.
I couldn't seem weak.
Crying was weak
I wasn't allowed to cry.

One time my sister and I
Had an argument.
It was something dumb.
She bit me
I ran upstairs
and cried in my bed.
I cried-
I was weak.
My other sister
Came in the room
She kept yelling at my sister
“Apologize!”
“Don’t touch her!’
“Go away!”
“Leave her alone!”
She acted like she cared for me.
But I know she didn’t really.
After all
If you really cared about someone
Would you tell them
That you wished
They were dead?
By now the scar
Has almost faded.
I can add it to the collection.
I forgive her.
It’s not a big deal.
I’ve been treated worse.
I probably deserve it
For something
That I’ve done
In the past
To someone.
In fact
It’s much better
than my other sister
Has treated me
before.
It makes no difference
Whether you hurt me physically
Or verbally.
I’ll forgive you
It’s a flaw
But,
I will always forgive you.
But never
Will I forget.
The only thing
I learned
From that day,
Was that I was weak.
That I was
the weakest person.
That I cried
Once more I broke my rule.
I wasn’t allowed to cry.