Natural

The waves of sadness wash over me
rolling down my body with an icy wetness that numbs
soaking me through.
I want to express my sadness
but there is no room to do so.
Not here,
in this city,
with these people.
They'll make you sad for feeling sad.
Like you've done something wrong.
Cheer up.

The clutch of grief strangles me
hugging me with its unrelenting assertion
an embrace that cannot be declined.
I want to express my grief
but there is no room to do so.
Not here,
in this city,
with these people.
They'll detach for fear of feeling grief.
Like you've done something wrong.
Move on.

The fires of anger sizzle my insides
charring my heart and heating my skin
an explosion locked in a box.
I want to express my anger
but there is no room to do so
Not here,
in this city,
with these people.
They'll spit back anger from tasting your anger.
Like you've done something wrong.
Calm down.

So I go to the ocean to weep my sadness,
    but the waves are no bigger than they were.

And I go to the mountains to let loose my grief,
    but the snow does not melt into tears.

And I go to the desert to rage my anger,
    but the earth is still, and does not quake.

Nature is not affected by my emotions.
Perhaps because they are natural.

 

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