It makes sense

 to cry a lot.

 What didn’t make any sense was to be numb in my little bed,

 to shove away the fear, grief, unmet needs,

 then arrive outside my bedroom door,

 at the classroom door,

at the neighbor’s door

with a big smile on my face.

That tore me up,

scarred me up,

toughened me up,

Closed me up,

closed me down.

It would have made sense to give up

It did make sense a moment or two

No more scars

No more doors

No more

forced smiles

Just escape

But then I cried a lot instead.