Cry Baby

In my soul
there verged
the cry of an animal
that has been waiting
to be released.

I found myself wanting to cry yesterday morning. I was at work, placing pastries carefully onto wax sheets, making sure that they were presented in a way that satisfied my visual palette. One of my co-workers laughed at my desire for perfection, and the other smiled on the other side of the bar. We had gotten closer; I had finally felt a sense of belonging in our struggles and laughter, together for hours in this place where we're free to create.

But that wasn't the reason I wanted to cry.

We were listening to something beautiful, I can't remember what. Jerome knew how to play my iPod better than I can.

The thought that crossed my mind was, "I have no reason to be unhappy: I have a sense of belonging, people who love and care for me, and I am committed to this sense of stability.

"Listen to your pain. Don't run away from conflict. Love when you want to, and learn to receive love."

And suddenly I wanted to cry.

It felt like pain, but more like a pain standing on firmer ground.

I had been suffering. And I was too ashamed to show much of it.

And as I was placing pastries on sheets, I stifled that cry, knowing very well that it is the release that I've been waiting for - my body needs this release.

It was on the surface for most of the day. I sat down with my increasingly close friend at work, and told him my desire to cry. He understood, but didn't know how to give me the space that I wanted.

I started drinking early - I still felt the cry.

I stumbled into many people, and I felt vulnerable - it's right there!

In the evening, I was with friends who supposedly knew how to give space, but I had never felt safe with them.
I don't feel safe.
I don't have a safe place to cry.
I don't have a home that is my own.
I don't have my own space.
I don't have that sacred loneliness.

And I needed to cry.

I still do.