I bet you never knew
that I can't cry over you.

Physically.

Although the tears you cannot see,
I'm crying the river inside of me.

I can't physically cry over you.

It's like an invisible force
that takes an iron hold on my tears
whenever I need to cry about you
and I can feel the pain and the emotion
rioting and crashing inside of me
but this gargantuan force keeps the tears at bay
each and every time.

But I don't know why.

Maybe it's because I have a subconscious need to keep straight faced
and be strong for you.

Even though it kills me every time.

It worries me though,
that if something truly terrible happened to you,
God forbid,
that I wouldn't be able to cry.

I'd do what I'm doing now;
I'd gasp and shake and sob without tears.

But after I'd still feel
this twisting churning
lead weight of fear,
and worry,
and pain,
and raw emotion
inside every fibre of my body;
rocking me to sleep each night.