ugly crying, pretty reasons

its that feeling when you’re in rehearsal

with people that you used to know

when the room is too bright and your clothes too hot

and you can feel your throat close up

when you’re struggling to hit those low alto notes

But then in that dark resonance of song

reverberations hot and heavy in the cartilage of your chest

its almost like sophomore year again

walking to rehearsal in pouring rain

after hours trapped in an ivory tower

to be surrounded for once by people who look and act and talk like you

when you can drop the veneer of respectability and

flex the muscles and the accent formerly incapacitated by its sheen

 

It’s when you sing your favorite song again

words dead in your headĀ for years

suddenly reanimated

as your vocal cords resonate

with sounds and people and memories

And love, so warm,

that you can’t help but ugly cry.

And its as those tears cut off the sound in your throat

and the pianist looks at you

as those globular tears

spill over your chin to the vast expanse of your chest

to darken the stripes on your dress

that you remember why you’re here.

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