I learned to swim

by treading through tears –

the ones society said I should never let fall.

They told me, hold them in,

for if I let them go,

so goes my manhood,

so goes my worth.

But if I hold every drop,

I become the very shadow they fear –

the hardened thug,

the mask of anger,

the vessel of blows too many to count.

Some strikes came

from those who hide behind

the fragile shields society provides.

Others came from the metal on their chest,

badges that gleam to impress

the best of the worst fears.

I tread tears thinking of the world

my children must live –

how they see but are not free,

how their laughter is measured,

their future rationed.

Still, my legs grow strong

from swimming in sorrow,

while my prayer box spill psalms

into the currents.

It’s strange –

those who build the city of limitations

shame me for treading tears.

Yet they fear my stroke,

fear that I might swim laps

through the ocean of pain they created.

My tears entertain them,

they orchestrate our grief

into their theater of control –

yet they find no reflection

in the mirror of their own fears.

And so, when I sit with myself,

I know these tears are not weakness.

They are the current,

the river of power

flowing endlessly

from between my ears.

These words are a gift that you’re not alone. I don’t just write for me, but for dreamed humanity.

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