A small, rotten seed

“Don’t cry”

Words from my father

A slow, deep rumble

Warnings of a stampede to come

Even if you can’t see the danger

You know that it’s coming

“Crying is just a form of

Emotional manipulation”

My four-year old mind awash with guilt

The knowledge that my actions

Cause pain and stress in others

Remorse settles in as

A small, rotten seed

That at first can be ignored

Tucked away

In a small corner of the heart

But the decay grows

The smell worsens over time

At first just a slight feeling

Of discomfort

Something not quite right

Tickles the nostrils

And then I think that I

Get used to the smell

Until a random wave of nausea hits

Is something rotting?

I wonder, as I check around the trash can

I clean out the fridge

Take out the trash

Wash the dishes

Scrub the floors

But still there is the

Sickly-sweet yet sour scent

Needling deep into my sinus

Onions bite at my eyes

I can no longer eat

Because everything disgusts me

I’m afraid to sleep

Because the smell follows

Into my dreams

I’m afraid to make friends

What if they can smell it too?

Kind people try to tell me

That they can’t smell it,

They don’t think I’m tainted

But the rumbles of the father

Always returns

“Stop crying!

Can’t you see what you’re doing?

I know you do this on purpose

Look at what you’re doing

To your mother!”

And the seed explodes

The grime and filth spread

“You’re so selfish”

Corpse flower in full blossom

Radiating out from my essence

Spikey black static in my eyes

Since banishing my tears

But emptiness is so off putting

To regular, decent folk

A young girl sees me

With long, dark hair

Coarse white bandages on my wrists

Coarse white bandages around my neck

And my eyes that grow darker

The longer you look at them

And her eyes dart away

And her fear would tug at my heart

If I dared to allow it to

My dad might approve of

My stoic silence

But friends that once were

(or perhaps never were)

Whisper too loudly

“she never cries”

Calls go straight to voicemail

“she’s such a callous monster”

My roommate, shutting the

Door into my face

“I’m just sorry that

You don’t feel anything at all”

But times in hospital beds

Beg to differ

“How did things end up this way”

My parents muse to themselves

“We didn’t know she was sad,

It’s not like she ever cries”