i go outside sometimes

nothing is silent.

not even the trees.

not even me as I press my palm to the bark,

letting my day flow from my head to its heart.

i tell it that i cried today.

i tell the tree that my tears came faster and faster with my breath. 

i tell it that i played it off as my contacts.

i tell it that i covered it up with jokes and sarcasm.

i tell it that it really wasn't okay

and that crying in a bathroom stall is even less glamorous than it sounds,

especially when you run out of toilet paper tissues.

the tree tells me about the sticky tears that it sheds when it's cut.

it tells me about how it cries for its brothers that I now record my thoughts on.

it tells me that it cries for me.

     because i cared enough to share my heart with it, 

     and i cared enough to listen.

the wind whispers in my ears,

     telling me i'm good enough

                    good enough

                    just

                             enough.

i worry that the words are just sweet nothings

and I don't really matter.

i worry that the trees don't care

and the ducks don't care

and that someday the grass will sit on me

like i'm sitting on it.

six-feet under the dirt and the

                   grass and the

                   rocks

because my tears cycle through

and so does my life.


--Alis