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
But then I cried a lot instead.