no one cries over a spilled glass of milk
that slides across the rough woodgrain of my table
and tumbling onto the smooth white linoleum tiles of my kitchen floor.
But I cry when your lies tie my hands, wrist, and feet together
like blue green vines in thick lazy jungle palms,
hoisting me above and beyond the blazing white stars like a festive spanish pinata.
Your lies allowed me to kiss the sky with my eyes closed
and hold hands with the moon, yet everytime the truth burst out,
it was like being struck with a rod of sharp green bamboo,
each time losing a little more of my dignity, my self respect,
and the little bit of pride i had to start with.
People laughed at my foolishness like children dancing
under a waterfall made of candy,
and those people feasted on my tears,
that you drew out from hiding, people feasted on my feelings,
feelings that you unearthed from piles of hurt i had pushed away for so long.
All these strings came undone when you allowed the truth
to blow me away like a feather in hurricane winds...