They tell me to swallow
sadness like it's a toxin,
but my body is a container for all of it,
the rage, the grief, the longing,
they sit in my throat,
unmoving, and I think
maybe I am not meant to
be happy all the time.
Maybe my heart is built to carry the tonnage of sorrow,
like my Father before me,
like his father before him.
Why should I lie
about the heaviness I feel,
when it's the only thing
that's ever truly been mine?
©umclite
U