Auto-Portraiture

When I can’t cry.

When my emotions are too stubborn.

When my mind and body are numb with apathy

and the routine of life.

When my body refuses to let a wall crumble,

to let others see me weak through the thick, grainy dust of failure.

When I can’t cry, the Earth does for me.

It’s peaceful.

The soft lull of water droplets collecting in pools on the ground.

Pattering against cool glass and pot-holed gravel,

trickling down rooftops and out of waterspouts.

I splash in the pools, a childlike spirit awakening.

Memories of hazy summer afternoons,

smoky atmospheres of rolling wisped clouds after a rogue thunderstorm.

It almost makes me forget the earth is crying.

Tears of delight, of agony, of sympathy.

Tears, I cannot seem to express myself.

The Earth knows when things turn sour.

Knows when my eyes run dry.

Knows when I can’t let go,

or hold on.

She knows, and she cried for me.

The peace of it melts my heart,

the black mist of anxiety scatters violently.

It leaves bruises and scars,

but it allows me to become one with Her;

as the drops stream down my face.

Like tears.

My tears.

Opening up and pouring down over vast distances.

Mental clouds that manifest,

and just…let…go.