I’ve struggled hard to have the nothing that I have right now;

pushed past my limits, taken bullets to the chest. Somehow

I’m still breathing on my own; can’t take it easy now,

because as soon as I let up, straight down I’ll start to plow.

Often, I binge on wind and water to adjust my fate;

trick my body and my mind to think it’s not too late;

go hungry evening after evening, but my kids, they ate;

tuck them in, then eat the leftovers right off of their plate.

Someone called me lucky once, something about I’m still young;

to just “hold on”, that I’d “pull through if I would just keep strong.”

Rolled off his lips like he was singing lyrics from a song.

He’d never seen a struggle, didn’t know that broke lasts long.

Working after hour after hour, less than minimum wage;

check-to-check living, trapped in a social economical cage;

stifled rants and petty names brewing a terrible rage

spawned anxious habits, made it difficult for me to engage;

but I stayed silent, lost my voice to let the bigger ups win.

I trail a path where high hopes flare and then depress me again.

I still won’t quit, despite the battle, I’ll give my hundred and ten.

When empty handed, I’ll complain about it all with my pen.




2 thoughts on “Complaining

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