Cocking Back Tears

By Arthur Muñoz
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Pictured: Author Arthur Muñoz

From the Poet:
“I wrote these pieces of art because there is power behind everyone’s story. Maybe you’re aware or haven’t noticed, but you are, in fact, a very powerful and important individual. Share your story. Don’t be ashamed. Through art or through any other form of expression, your story will inspire others.”

Cocking Back Tears

It’s​ ​been​ ​years​ ​since​ ​I’ve​ ​felt​ ​the​ ​sensation​ ​of​ ​flowing​ ​streams​ ​gently​ ​roaming​ ​down​ ​my​ ​cheeks.
It’s ​been​​ years​​ since​​ the​​ glimmers​​ ​from​ tearing-up​ ​has​ ​​shun​ ​from​ ​my​ ​eyes…​ ​It’s ​​been​ ​years.

I’ve​ ​struggled​ ​with​ ​tears.​ ​It’s​ ​been​ ​near​ ​impossible​ ​to​ ​cry.
I​ am​​ a​​ man,​ ​and​ ​​men​ ​aren’t​ ​suppose​ to​​ cry…​
Except​ if​​ we​​ are​​ indulged​​ ​with ​tequila​ ​y​ ​llorando​ ​por​ ​una​ ​mujer​.

And​ ​so,​ ​I​ ​don’t​ cry…​​ But​​ I​​ ​want​ to!​
I​ want​​ ​for​ ​my​ ​eyes​ ​to​ ​shed​ ​tears​ ​and​ ​wash​ ​away​ ​my ​​guilts​ ​and​ ​sorrows.
But ​I​ ​just​ ​don’t​ ​know​ ​​how… ​I​ ​don’t​​ ​know​ ​how​ ​to ​​cry.

I​ ​cannot​ ​envision​ ​myself​ ​crying,​ ​a​ ​natural ​act​ ​of​​ compassion.​
Like​ ​if​ ​a​ ​loved​ ​one​ ​would​ ​pass​ ​away,​ ​I​ fear​​ ​I​ ​will​ ​not ​feel.​
And​ ​no​ ​matter​ ​if​ ​I​ ​break​ ​into​ ​tears​ ​or​ ​don’t​ ​feel,​ ​I’ll​ still​​ ​be​ ​judged ​​by​ ​tias​ ​and​ ​tios.
And​ ​if​ ​tears​ ​amerge,​ ​I​ ​wish ​for​ ​them​ ​to​ ​not​ ​be​ ​​silenced.
If​ tears​​ amerge,​ ​I​ ​wish​ ​for​ ​them​ ​to​ ​be​ ​free​ ​like​​ the​​ ​blue​ ​seas ​that​ ​carry​ ​life.​
Only​ if​​ tears​​ would​​ emerge…​​ ​Only​ if…​

If​ ​tears​ ​emerge,​ ​my​ ​throat​ ​cocks​ ​back,​ ​swallows​ ​the ​tears,​ ​but​​ my​ ​tears​ ​fail​ ​to​​ ​fire.
My​ ​tears​ ​don’t​ ​make​ ​it​ ​past​ ​my​ ​eyes.​ ​My​ ​tears​ ​are​ ​kept​ inside,​
where​ ​they​ ​die​ ​and​ ​rise​ ​like​ ​vapor​ ​ceased ​from​​ ​the​ ​heat​ ​that​ ​my​ anger​​ ​provides.

Only​ ​if​ ​tears​ ​would​ ​emerge,​ my​​ feelings​​ of​​ ​anger​ ​would​ ​no​ longer​​ ​linger.
The​ devil’s​​ tail​​ would​​ no​​ ​longer​​ drag ​beneath​​ ​my​ ​feet.

Only​ ​if​ ​I​ ​was​ ​taught​ ​to​ ​cry,​ ​my​ ​life​ ​would​ shine​​ ​through​ ​a​ ​different​ light.​
My​ rhymes​ ​would​ ​speak​ ​through​​ ​a​ different​​ mic,​
the​ ​kind brave​​ ​enough​ ​to​ ​cross​ ​gendered​ ​lines.

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