Sitting With What Is

Today I cry
There's nothing to figure out
Or analyze
I don't need to follow these tears back to their memory roots
Or ask them to show me what they mean
Perhaps there is a time for that
But for now...

Their voice is here
In my shaky labored breathing
Their medicine is here
In the way they roll into the corners of my mouth and slide off my chin
Their healing is here
In the trembling of my stomach
Their song is here
In the middle of this tension, the way my heart grips tightly shut then opens deeper and wider than ever before
Their story is here
Without words

In these tender moments
When I allow them to move
And I have no desire to categorize them as good or bad
They have a right to exist for no other reason than the fact
That they do.
In this vulnerability
I don't need to write something beautiful
I just need to write something truthful
My body is my poem.