The Teardrop That Took A Lunch Break Poem by Mary Huxley

A single tear slid down my cheek,
clocked in for work, said, "Back next week."
It packed its bags, tiny suitcase, tiny socks
and whispered, "Buddy… life's a lot."

The sky turned gray in sympathy,
even my shadow sighed at me.
My coffee tasted like regret,
my cereal said, "You good yet? "

Even my phone, that cold rectangle,
sent me ads for emotional detangle.
And my pillow, brave and soft and true,
applied for overtime… just holding you.

Some days the heart is heavy clay,
shaped by storms that won't go away.
But still we breathe, still we stand,
with trembling hope held in one hand.

And somewhere in the mess and ache,
a laugh sneaks in because hearts don't break,
they bend, they wobble, they ugly-cry,
and then they snort-laugh right after. Why?

Because being human is a tragic comedy,
and every tear has a tiny bit of parody.
So cry if you must slide dramatically to the floor
but I'll be here, cheering you on for more.