Crybaby

By Anya Shroff

Crybaby

by fourth year Zoey Stephens

I’m a teary-eyed little girl at my ripe age of twenty-two.

I weep and moan as if I’m not grown

My eyes see the world through a lens of blue

They called me sensitive when I was real young 

Because crybaby didn’t sound too polite of a name

And it wet my eyes when it rolled off a tongue

I spent so many tears on my own sullen things

That one day I decided I had some to spare

And I’d share my tears along with my feelings

I’ve spent too long mourning for my own grief

So don’t stop me from crying over someone else’s spilled milk 

Feeling these emotions is what gives me relief

I held the hand of a father across a dining table 

I felt his voice waver and his palm tremble too 

If you won’t cry, I’ll do it for you

I cried for my brother as he laid his son to rest 

For my lonely mother, my heartbroken best friend,

I’ll give them leave to lay their head on my chest 

I don’t cry just for loss, but for love and for light

And maybe the sight of a beautiful sky

When the full moon takes flight in the night

I’ll tear up at seeing some newborn babe’s smile widen 

And some lovely old words written in a new way

And the way they make someone else’s eyes brighten

And I’ll cry for the joy of being alive

Of breathing and dying and all the vitality in between

I won’t hold back the tears as they fall from my eyes

Crying isn’t so bad if you just let it pass

It’s the closest you can be to your humanity

It's a celebration, elation, anguish, lamentation

Let yourself feel what you need to be free