i love the word sob, even though i am not one.
about caprice and mood and whimsicality, i am an expert.
ever since childhood, i have learnt the art of throwing tantrum, which brought me attention and consolation, particularly from my beloved grandparents.
thus weeping kitten became my nickname.
i dont perspire. all the bad chemicals fluid trapped in my body. odorless, colourless, tasteless.
aside from micturition and my lachrymal gland, I dont know how to be rid of my excess bad chemicals and water containing all the wastes.
i was once a cutter because i attributed my anger and frustration to all the toxic in my blood. They said some caged birds selfmultilate themselves too.
beyond description, is what i feel. sans-voix, that's what i am.
So next time you see me cry, please let me be and do not ask me to quit the drama 'cause it is simply not drame. What I need is a shoulder, your bear hug or your kiss to pull me through the difficult moment. No comments needed. And i'll be alright, standing tall again after the vent.
please simply be there. not a word, but your embrace, bracing me through the temporary hard time for me and with me.
if you please.