When the car door shuts I know I’m free to feel what’s washing over me
Take off my masks that serve me well, as honest as they may be;
they can’t tell the greater story of what’s behind my eyes, of what I see.
I wish I could say it all, like a purge of all purges put it to words as if that would somehow end it, the feelings associated with the tidal wave of fragments that wash over unresolved.
Pieces, when the car door shuts, moments from the last three years,
I turn the key, put music on, and feel my eyes well up with tears,
I let them come, they’re welcome now, fragments of lost hopes and fears.
I tell myself it’s a cleanse, maybe in time the tears will end, or maybe this is just the beginning. I can’t hope or care if people notice, even if “crying face is ugly”.
That’s what we’ve always been told anyway, don’t cry, it’s alright, it will all be okay, but it’s okay to feel grief and not will it away.
It’s okay to feel fragments like wounds in your skin,
to not know how to cross wide chasms,
to have done things you shouldn’t have done,
feel the weight of the world and not know how to respond.
It’s okay to not know how to solve things today, and cry in your car to feel the pain, then come home to your babes, cuddle them each night, and at least feel renewed that for them you will fight.