OUTLET

These teardrops roll down my blushed cheeks
Those, usually mistaken for weakness
Those that are an expression of actual passion

 
Of anger when I love too much to bark an endless spiral of condescending words
Of hurt when I feel a literal pain in my heart having been dealt a blow by someone perhaps too close
Of disappointment when I am stunned by the actuality of him held in esteem

 
Of a physical evacuation of the venom that wells within me
An alternate to utterances whose eventuality would be regret
Shed to leave the soul purified and the heart without grievance
These tears, I shed