Who Will Cry for the Little Girl?

Who will cry for the destitute among us?

I am learning now, how to cry for me-- and while this process will no doubt take a lifetime,  my soul won’t be consumed with tears. At least not of my own accord. The mountain I’m climbing starts and ends with me looking in the mirror and seeing myself, and coming away with the feeling that my scars don’t make me any less beautiful.  It’s so easy to cry for others. To acknowledge their pain, and even pretend that you can aid them in recovery. Crying for your self is the hardest thing of all because you, first, have to admit that something is awry. I wasn’t taught how to do that. Thankfully I have been surrounded by others that tend to shine their lights on me, until I was forced to surrender to reality. So now as I’m getting myself together, and learning how to live and love me, I will humbly surrender to love. But it’s not enough for me to live in my bliss filled bubble, while the ones around me suffer in silence. I thank God that I have the hands and feet to do work. Alls I gotta do now is dig in with both hands and all feet. I want to give people that hugs were promised but the embrace was never fulfilled.  The love that was made manifest but that was never “real”. I’ll cry for and with them, because no one ever cried for me.