The Craft

Tears well
followed by
a deep breath,
sadness
is a fine art,
and I’m still
after all these years
developing the craft.

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One for the kid trying to be strong

The other day

I had a good cry

but to tell you the truth,

I really don’t know why.

Perhaps it was the past

or future, or present

it doesn’t really matter though

just so long as it happened.

Because sometimes the universe

can make you feel ill.

Other times though it can give you a thrill.

And on those occasions where

the walls trap you in

it’s natural to flood your way

up and out again!

In light of current & ongoing events.

Most of us have a hard time
having to express the way we feel inside
I
seem quite normal to the outside world
but really who would know?
We
don’t ask questions in public
for fear of stirring up conflict
You
could have said something helpful
but you stood politically correct.

Some like to engage in alcohol
others fuck strangers in bathroom stalls
She
to the world looked like an angel
something she’d never know.
We
don’t ask questions in public
for fear of stirring up conflict
He
could have given her confidence?
But sadly he knew the truth.

Most of us have a hard time
having to express the way we feel inside
I
am just a quarter in a wishing well
so here’s to wishing you well.
We
don’t want to listen to sadness speak
instead we wait for silence’s grief
You
could have the world at your feet
if you just put that bottle down.

It’s not a problem until it is
we’ve all got history I know this
He
made loads of money and hit his kids
but that’s just history now.
We
don’t ask questions in public
for fear of stirring up conflict
I’ve
been feeling good the past two days
I guess that’s a start anyhow.

You’re never completely alone.

Allow me my sadness today.

We can talk tomorrow.

As you walk away, we

die a little more – separate machines.

But take care knowing, if

you decide to speak.

We can talk today.

Always.

Individual Sadness.

We each have our own

individual sadness.

Like a fine wine.

I drink it down.

Some tastes better

than others.

I drink hers down.

Then open another bottle.

We much prefer red over white.

Dry over sweet.

Though there have been those who’ve poured

and those who’ve carelessly spilled.

But none like this.

None so direct.

Covered in a deep, warm red

I much prefer her careful aim

as she throws the Cab into my face –

Betty Davis style.