I have been writing poetry since 1992, but it’s still weird to call myself a poet. Today stings a little and it’s been awhile since I felt this way. I’m not writing much these days, that could be part of it.
Meanwhile, this poem by Nayyirah Waheed is hitting me in the gut, on repeat.
cruel mothers are still mothers.
they make us wars.
they make us revolution.
they teach us the truth. early.
mothers are humans, who
sometimes give birth to their pain. instead of
Also, read this today, if you need to be softened.