By Gracie Hastings
I’ve grown to know you as a role model.
A silent, intelligent being.
I’ve never seen you cry.
Maybe your eyes have built barriers
of teardrop hurt
and your skin has turned to concrete
to suppress any
I don’t believe that you’re careless.
Behind your clouded expression
you are trying to make sense of
the complicated while I
am trying to make sense of your silence.
I want to understand the different ways
in which we hold ourselves together.
You’ve locked your vulnerability
from other presences.
And I’ve stored my weakness
in the ballpoint of my pen.