What Makes You Cry?
I keep it. My shame. Far from your condescending eyes.
I hide my shame in my tears.
For every time you described my eyes as big as an owl’s. Causing me to squint. To make them smaller.
For every time you called my legs yams. Causing me to wear longer skirts to hide 'em.
For every time I get asked “You don’t know the answer?” in an interview. And I know I have flunked yet another.
For every time I have read an email that says “We’ve gone with another candidate”
For every time you grimaced at my chopped hair, saying “You look like a bloke”
I could never show you where I keep it.
It is for my eyes only. From my eyes only.
I hide my shame in teardrops that wash away the hurt from within me.
Thank you, dear Diana C., for yet another prompt that made me look inward and turn myself inside out.
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