Strong

I might break down every once in a while, but don't forget that I'm strong.
I'm strong as fuck. That sounds pretentious, and I don't care.
I'm not strong because I want to be - I'm strong because I have to be...
because of the cards I've been dealt. I'm strong because other people
need me to be, because the world needs me to be, and because I need
me to be. I might not be as strong as I think sometimes, but I know I'm stronger
than I think most of the time - because no matter what happens,
I just keep going, just keep singing, just keep writing, just keep dreaming, just keep on being.
What else could I ask of me?

I wrote a poem today.

I wrote a poem today, and it's not very nice. I saw this woman in the park and she just... well, read the poem.

Her smile looks like a lie.
(Her children precede her, running,
grabbing, shaking apart at the seams,
two boys in worn out sneakers,
t-shirts plastered with corporate America,
eight dollar haircuts.
The air around them is jagged and agitated,
all orange and green.)
Her feet drag,
her belly is swollen beneath ill-fitting clothes,
her hair is undone and unwashed,
and her smile,
it looks like defeat.

It's not very happy. I felt almost guilty writing it. I felt like I should follow it up by writing about the couple with their baby girl who looked just so happy to be alive - but I didn't have another poem in me. I haven't written in so long.. and I'm rusty. I've written a couple of poems in the last month, and it's not prolific in any sense of the word... but it feels good to be writing again.