I think

All those years of not crying

Of pressing them all into some room in my stomach

For years bidding them to stay back, stay alert, stay controlled, stay happy

Years

Of hoping I could hold them there 

I think that room has a slow leak now 

And it seems I cannot stop them 

Every winter there is a harvest of them 

The clouds bid them free 

My story bids then free

My family bids them free

Conflict or confusion or anger 

Bid them free 

I hope they aren't all going to waste

I hope they are falling on soil somewhere

Growing something