Weaponized Tears

Am I the monster? Is it me?

For being hurt, tearful, angry?

My mother taught me tears were cheating,

For she used them well in a playful feating.

What a weapon she harnessed to twist and use

Till I became numb to their foul bruise.

Father, well he taught me they were weak

Just like any other emotion I dare speak

Without calm and control, a blank face,

Unreadable, untouchable, not a single trace.

I cried easily as a child though. At any small thing

I would burst to wail, such a frail darling.

Not now, I bottle up tears tight,

Even if inside I’m not alright.

So when they slip at the end of my rope,

I hear my parents’ voices and cannot cope.

Cheating, cheating, surely I am crying to

Guilt trip, and shame, manipulate you,

Or perhaps I am weak and silly,

Like every other mare and filly.

So I suck them in and lock my emotions

I swallow down my childhood potions

That carpet me in a blank mask,

But it’s been too long a unused task

And a few tears slip from watery eyes

But I swear to you, I won’t be she who cries.

So I can’t speak, or water will

Wash down my face and sobs spill

Unto the air with their taunt

As I collapse under their flaunt.

I cannot be so weak, vulnerable with you

Not even alone with myself. It’s true.

I fear you think I hate or anger,

But truly this line is of danger.

I wish I knew how to say what I felt

Without feeling like my soul will melt.

Yet, I cannot chase the feeling that you will hurt,

Not meet with gentle, but with accusing curt

Tones that cuts down to my flesh and bone

That let me know you’ve no warmth shone.

And to that I will rise and fight with callous

Far both my parents taught me their malleus.

And I’ll be left to conclude that alone is best,

Somehow I have failed this rotten test.

I don’t know how to process things that make me cry,

And I am stuck in this land, feeling unsafe to try.