Now I Cry

It has occurred to me recently, that I have not cried enough in my life.

Perhaps I have not cried when it really mattered.

Yes, I have cried at sweet videos of babies on social media - a gentle squirt of mildly salty tears squeezing their way out of the corners of my eyes.

Yes, I have cried at shattering loss, and pain with a silent rivulet of never ending tears navigating their way down my cheeks, to my neck and ending in a pool between my breasts.

Yes I have cried in joy, with tears spurting in gratitude for those I love and who love me.

What I have NOT done enough is to cry my rage.

I have not taken all of the pain and anguish of my life and squeezed it out of myself in the same way I clean the sponge on my kitchen sink.

I have not taken the hurt, the betrayal, the trauma, and the injustice visited on myself and the little girl that I was and squeezed it out of myself.

I am a human sponge who has done what I was supposed to do
I cleaned up.
I have gently and lovingly scrubbed the most precious and beautiful of treasures.
I have scoured away at other peoples hard, baked on and caked messes.
I have wiped down surfaces and absorbed filth and dirt so others could be free of them.

I am a human sponge - bloated with the dirty mess of my snatched innocence, and other peoples brokenness.

I just have not squeezed myself enough to let these things pour out of me in a flood of tears, releasing the poison.

I am so bloated now, that I am constantly seeping toxic and bitter tears from every pore.

I feel now, as if I need to twist and crush myself until I am an empty dry sponge.

It seems if I do not do this, I will explode into shreds which cannot ever be put together again

I need to howl my Righteous rage to the moon and and call on my ancestors to take me in their tightly held fist and squeeze, until all that which is not me is released.

Perhaps then they can run fresh cool water over me and I can be reconstituted
Perhaps then I can let fresh air blow away all that poisoned me
Perhaps then this daughter of red earth can sit in the sun and look up at blue sky.

Perhaps then this daughter of red earth can be free

Now, I cry.