Frustrated or Free?

Things I used to love are getting on my nerves now. I'm getting pissed off too easily. I desire to be a pleasant person but I am not always successful. Maybe I'm just growing up and that's why I don't want to be bothered with certain things. I am hurting and in pain and angry and lonely and need a job but can't afford to work. All this academia is getting on my nerves.

So I am sitting here writing, and that is a beautiful thing for me; because I usually do everything but write when I am dealing with so much in my life, which has been all of my life -- really, all of my life -- it is still strange that I am giving myself permission to write.

I've got to find something that I love and that loves me. Being Black and poor and lonely and almost cripple at times is not an easy life. I am not even after easy but I am after something. Whatever it is I haven't it yet. I feel closer than I've ever been but I have not arrived.

Ice cream ain't it; chocolate either; nothing is it anymore. I've lost my passion; please don't give up and let circumstances win. All the shadows of my victories launch an attack that try and say, "You are nothing without a battle; you are destined to fight forever."

Limping and wounded, hurting and pained, still somehow hope to hear someone say my name -- someone else besides a bill collector -- still trying and hoping and holding on; I want to live; I want to live life without all this pain, just a little bit of life where peace and comfort rein; a warm embrace and maybe even a smile; a cheerful hello and a "Please stay a while."

I want to be loved for no reason at all; I want to rest for real and sing a brand new song; no one is designed to fight for this long and without any help I fear I'll be gone the way of my sister's death, the way of my mother's death, the way of a premature death.

If the mortgage don't kill me, being abandoned sure will ; if the pain doesn't stop me, truly the deficit will, if being all alone doesn't crush me... enough please don't let my legs fail to an oncoming bus. I'm just a woman trying to live. A little Black sister, striving to give; I 'm just a citizen of a country of my own where I beg for acceptance and I stand all alone.

If you ask me, I'll answer; if you hear me, I'll tell; if you see me, I'll look you straight in your eyes and I'll tell you my story of crush and of pain. I'll write it so clear you'll remember my name. I'll paint all the bruises; I'll song all the songs; I'll make it so real you will known I belong somewhere. So I 'm fighting this battle that's too often hard. I am fighting though broken and standing though crushed because I'm determined not to die because I've buried too many to ever give up.

Ma! I'm gonna find my way;Lynn I'm gonna tell it; Neet, I'm gonna write; I'll tell the truth; I'll hunt it down; I promise I will not only because you lived but because I refuse to die.