Rising for My Three Reasons

They told me when I was young, "It gets easier with time"

But I'm thirty-something years in. Still climbing uphill climbs. Fourteen and on

my own. No one showed me how to break in cycles that weren't

mine. Still fighting even now. Mold on the walls,

no heat. Streets beneath my feet. Every time I stand back up,

life knocks me off my feet. Father's anger in my bones. Mother's shame I

crossed. Fighting just to break the chain of everything they lost.

The only reason I get back up is them three reasons breathing,