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When I am sad, a voice, not unlike my own
chastises the impulse
if it is that, wishing to rise beyond, crush of emotion
when I am sad, I make myself sadder
by listening to those inherited echoes, telling me how I should feel
shutting down the validity, condemning feelings less than
knocking walls already fragile, disqualifying the emotion
when I am sad
I think of your disappointment
how much you wanted me to be
a thing of steel
reflecting only brightness
nothing dull or sorrowful
how I became in irony, almost everything you loathe and detest
I would say I am sorry, for your distress
but I learned instead of words, to be sad
maybe in part, because I saw, that flint in your eyes
nothing else was there
though in truth I was sad, at six years old
watching kids bully each other
knowing then, inequality and inequity
imagining the fight before I had, grown tall enough
hoping The Magic Faraway Tree
was real but knowing if it were
children grown to adults, would cut it down
when I am sad
sometimes it helps to think
love cannot be broken
by sadness or loneliness or grief
love stands as our first flower
even as it no longer exists the scent remains
to save us from disappointment
of so many other things
including each other and our infinite ability to be cruel
I am still the child with the blue rabbit
watching adults lie to each other
and kids emulate and pinch, the very stuffing out of hope
for if there is a Magic Faraway Tree
I think it would not be
for you or thee or me
like all magic things
only reveal itself to those pure hearted enough to know
sadness is manufactured by what we do to each other
with each cruel act it grows
if we let it and if we don’t
then next time I am sad
I will think on other things
like your voice and how
you make my heart quicken, just in your use
of words, the familiar cadence a worm
reaching deep into my heart
moving toward light.
