the last time it was safe to cry
was in preschool
when the sweetest teacher
made cards for everyone
with our characteristics
spelled out in poems
I was described
as a delicate thing of porcelain
overflowing with tears
made of precious pearls
she read it with such warmth
that I could only feel
accepted and safe
years later in school
I cried in Swedish class
because no one warned me
the others were years ahead
and I understood nothing
having studied a different language
and the shame lingered forever
my posture still slumps
every time someone questions
if my reaction is in proportion
or a cry escapes when I'm meant to be
professional and able
and even at home I am not safe
from other people's discomfort
so I quiet the sobs
dry my tears
steady my breath
once and again
© coldscars