When I Cry

.

.

My cries are different

from everyone else.

Sometimes aloud,

releasing built-up anger.

Sometimes inside,

building the anger.

.

I cry very often

when I’m lonely or sad.

But no matter the reason,

what it might possibly be,

they’re never the same

as others around me.

.

Nobody’s cries are exactly the same,

they were meant to be different.

But everyone’s cries

in one way or another,

Has at least one small trait

In common with others.

.

But not one of mine.

Every last one is different.

In every way I see a tear drop,

and every sound I hear them make;

my cries are different from everyone

else,

Down to their very last trait.

.

I’ve always felt different,

not like all my friends,

Just totally out-of-place.

But when I cry, I get a feeling

I may have some hope;

I end up no longer believing.

.

Will the day ever come

when I’ll finally fit in?

When I’ll stop feeling unwanted

by friends and by kin?

When I’ll stop hiding my feelings

Tightly locked up with-in?

.

When I cry aloud

I won’t stand out?

When I cry inside

It’ll be a quiet song?

When I cry alone

it’ll be ‘cause I belong?

.

Copyright ©Kyla Davis (Scheuer) 1985

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One response to “When I Cry

  1. Pingback: I Moved to Hell? « Kylamscheuer

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