I was told often in life that
“Big boys don’t cry.”
I learned how to
Hold my emotions
Tightly inside me,
Like so many clothes in
An overworked suitcase.

No one told me, though,
That so many years of
Holding it in and
Being a man
Would turn my hurt
Into rage.

The water of my tears
Simmers in my heart,
Slowly changing to
Acidic nitro-glycerin;
It transforms my soul
Into a bomb
Whose fuse is the sum
Of all the moments
My hopes were dashed and
Dreams discarded.

The fuse will someday reach
The powder keg,
Full to the brim with
Every time I wanted to cry,
But wasn’t allowed to.

When it does…

© 2006 by Robert E. Blackwell