I'm not supposed to crumble like a child
Dissolved in foolish tears or aching breast
Or lay me down and weep for trust defiled
Or to my justice cling as though obsessed.
I'm not allowed to mourn my heart's distress.
I am instead supposed to raise my eyes
And lift my head and walk. I'll find the rest
Where warriors go to don their stone disguise
And leave the pain in half-heart compromise.
For I am much too strong, too bright, too bold
To hide my light of joy in dark and lies
Or let myself be less than shining gold.
You tell me this and I convince myself
I'm not the sort to cry aloud for help.
postscript
Too many people feel like this. Sometimes I do, too. Ultimately I know where my hope is found, but it's okay to feel like this for awhile. Or a long time. Spenserian sonnet.