of silent eyes who look through my heart.
I stand still in the middle of a circle of invisibility
staring at empty walls full of shadows;
shadows hidden behind a perspiration of smiles
pretending to be my friends but all the while they laugh at me
because sometimes I cry when tears
are not there.
Sometimes I cry when I am amused at a mad world
where beggars are not the needy
and the needy are not the ones helpless
and the helpless are not the hungry
starving to be recognized through their true identities.
Sometimes I cry when I am pretending
to believe in the value of a person’s kindness,
but are these masks just worn by agendas
with those little beady eyes
sneaking up behind me attacking me
with a venomous little surprise.
My happiness rattles against the railing of the silence
of noisy eardrums listening to my mind.
I walk fast on paused streets of civilization
to find new destinations of fear;
a fear that is a crumpled piece of paper
in my left side pocket that I wrote down
so I wouldn’t forget; but I have it memorized
because sometimes I cry just to trace the tears
of a memory.
I find myself crying
just to prove to myself I am alive;
just to prove to myself that I am trying,
and sometimes I cry
just to allow my soul to sweat.