one-hundred-fifty-three.

crying doesn’t make me a sissy,
it just makes you uncomfortable.
when you should be addressing my upset,
you shame my actions, instead.

Advertisements

one-hundred-fifty-two.

if the hand holding my house keys
sparkled with a wedding ring,
you would have been the first one
to call all your in-laws,
boasting with pride.
i have all but a marriage license,
and my space is now my sin;
your full-time embarrassment.

one-hundred-thirty.

why value yourself just on
your time spent at work
and undervalue those you love
for staying at home
to be with their seeds
as they grow into
sprouts and flowers?
why define work
as only what you feel is hard,
what keeps you up at night,
and roll your eyes at those you love
for losing sleep nurturing
their baby bird;
one they made with their own
flesh and blood?