Short Tears

My tears are short, they don’t slide off my face
I cry them from a stifled, sullen place
I cry them for the losses that I feel
My tears are short, but you can see they’re real
My body shakes with sadness like it’s hot
I like to think I’m whole, but I am not
I’m only whole when love is in my arms
She wants my tears; she wants my subtle charms
I pull my paper quickly from my book
It’s blank. I turn it over, turn to look
at life below the teardrops, short and round
there’s nothing really blank, I think I’ve found
a poem that reveals what I surmise
of tears I cry; it matters what the size.

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