An Epiphany Dawns
"Why are you crying?" feels like an accusation.
A heart under inquisition.
It's in the way your mouth forms the syllables that stops me short of vulnerability.
I gave you those tears as a gift- an opportunity to rewrite the script.
To ask me why I was laughing instead.
It has come to my attention that your devotion to sadistic tradition comes with great cost.
The epiphany soaks into me like a ghost of my patience past.
The heavy cost is not the sacrifice of my wellbeing- rather it is me.
So when you ask me why I am crying with such accusation- I will answer like a woman tried.
You.
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