Wet pillowcases

I must’ve been 6 years old when I learnt how to mute the sound of my cries.
I’d lie down in my mother’s double bed and feel the tears irritate the corners of my eyes,
As they ran down in one direction carrying the weight of whatever was on my mind.

This turned into a skill I ended up carrying into the beds of my partners.
Silent tears and silent cries.
Words unspoken accompanied by feelings deeply felt.
Not even the sniffling sound of irritated nose would alarm them,
And so I got even better at my skill.

I’d face the other way – already filled up with so much emotion.
Slowly release the pressure,
One tear at a time.
Wet my pillow and ultimately fall asleep.

One partner always noticed my semi-swollen eyes the next morning,
But I’d deny it like my life depended on it.
And just like that, I became the master of silent rage,
heavy tears and wet pillowcases.

I carried this mastery into all phases of my life, situations and spaces.
It sometimes morphed into hidden emotions, pent up resentment
But always ended in silent tears and wet pillowcases.

I hid my tears away so well that even I would get shocked by their abrupt appearance.
I didn’t know what to do with all the heavy feelings, the loud screams, the ugly crying.
This wasn’t the type I was used to, the type I could hide
So I learnt to step back and let them take over.

Now I welcome the tears,
Make time for them.
One prayer at a time,
One journal entry at a time,
One honest conversation that sometimes turns into a prayer, then into a journal entry accompanied by loud screams, one at a time.