I read these words here tonight and cried into their truth.
I will not apologize for the truth or the cry of a heart.
Doing the right thing sometimes, takes everything...sometimes more than I got, and I would never blame someone for doing somewhat less.

Please read Emily here:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1606848/the-problem-with-poets/

My body somehow knows
The grief tomorrow holds.
I ache and throb
But I cannot sob;
The urge to cry
Stings my eyes.
My feet drag heavily
In the depths of this valley.
Every year without fail
I remind myself I am too frail.
"You're strong without the numbers,"
Yet I was too weak to pull you from your slumber.
Each March 22nd
Feels just like the 1st end,
When your heart stopped beating
And mine started bleeding.
I'd skip this whole day
But I'd miss the chance to say:
I miss you, lovely little hurricane.
It's all I can do to keep sane.
The smell of mint
Hurts just a hint.
The skinny jeans and hair bows
I could never disown.
I wear your effect  
On my forearm *****.
The pain of loss is akin
To etching you into my skin.
My hands shake with cold,
Though not as cold as a headstone.
Oh, how my body knows
The grief tomorrow holds.

God is my sun
Dissipating the clouds.
No dark is too great
That his love can’t penetrate;
His rays shine through.
And no gloom can loom
Where God beams.