It's even a lot harder for us to carry everything "well" all the time when all we want is to just crumble and fall apart. To admit that we are soft and weak too. To unmask and cry. To embrace all the sadness we have and truly be ourselves.
I don't think there's justice in how wrongly people see those who can carry burdens well. People know they are "strong" and may not need any comfort anymore. But we do. Just like any other person, we do. And just because we can carry it well doesn't mean it's not heavy for us.
I cry like a wolf.
To empty skies and fleeting hays.
I worship the moon.
Up the ocean blue it stays.
I sigh restless. A harsh comfort I can only endure.
I long for a child, whom I've never met but always knew.