Somewhere in me,
a great ocean has iced over.
The ice itself is brittle,
and if pressed,

a great tide of tears
will rush forth.
It threatens to drown
all who are near.

I will not cry,
I promise them.
I will not cry,
I promise myself.

It is futile;
the world is more cruel than anyone might hope,
and given simply time enough,
the ice will buckle.

The tears will come,
and I will know my failure
for what it is:
inevitable, and mine.





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