Strength 11/14

The greatest struggle
isn't with rope courses
or who gets the last piece of pie.
It's the angst
that swells inside your mouth
like cotton
and dares you to utter your fears.
It's the aging
truth that now dress you
in ways your mother saw coming.
It's being average
when your dreams still collect stars.
We road rage
through WalMart
like the cashier
can ring up
our unhappiness,
put it in a non-recyclable bag
and make sure we have a receipt,
b/c we paid for this struggle.
We invested
our whole selves
in the push and pull
of growing up
rather than weeding
our growth,
watering our expectations,
and blooming
towards our spot of sunshine.
We sure did
forget the main characters
 who'd embodied
challenges
on well read pages
just so we could read,
rather than live out,
their stories.
We stood,
refusing to step forward or back,
harangued
by the very swings
that lifted us away,
and watched it
sway.
Don't tell me the struggle
isn't real,
when words only have voice
on social media
and my feelings
are pocket lint
in yesterday's jeans.
Don't say you know my journey
when I chose to walk the way
you couldn't see
b/c shadows are easier to hide
in between.
Don't say anything.
Re-read my poetry
until you see more
than words
and letters;
see strength.