They tell me to write a happy poem,
A joyous poem,
A lemon yellow sun and soft blue sky poem,
A hopeful poem, an inspiration poem,
An anything other than so much sadness poem.
I tell them my hope lies in the trenches
Where the muddy toil takes place.
My hope is *****,
Is often beaten down,
But it is resilient.
My inspiration does not come from blue skies.
It comes from watching strong women weather the storm.
My hope is inky black and pink underneath,
It needs armor.
Sometimes my hope needs a weapon, needs soldiers.
I am often fighting a war in my body,
And yes this war takes place under lemon yellow sun and soft skies.
They are beautiful,
But they do not make me feel hopeful.
My hope is that one day I will get to wash the mud off
And finally feel clean.