The less I cuss and fuss, the more I cry;
This may not be the same if I was a guy.
I shed tears of joy, of anger, of pain
Then I can begin to think straight again.
I cry because of how awesome all of life is made to be,
And because of the many blessings that have been given to me.
I cry because the of the passion that wells up in my soul,
When it becomes more powerful than my human heart can hold.
I cry when my grandchild wears her first prom dress,
And when my grandson wants to show me he's done his best.
I cry when a granddaughter plays piano and sax music for me,
And when another creates a dance program for me and my man to see.
I cry when I see people hurting others, and I cannot do anything.
I cry when I'm in the place of my birth and hear the church bells ring.
I cry when I see babies held gently by their fathers and mothers,
And I cry grieving for the pain of so many of our sisters and brothers.
I cry tears of joy when my daughter and son and their families come to call.
I cry wondering what made me so special that this manna, to me, should fall.
I cry also when I hurt because I cannot see The Creator's plan,
Especially when I fear the loss of those who love me as I am.
As Frank McCort's mother said to him, "Your bladder is close to your eyes,"
I cry because, in crisis, my grandma asked, "Do you want to laugh or cry?"
She seemed to know that laughter didn't clear out all the passion,
So I make no apologies for releasing this extra passionate ration.