My life is hard-
independent of commonly known,
regularly pitied hardship.
I have a house,
I have loving parents,
On the outside, (like so many others)
I have a beautiful/perfect/wonderful life,
and yes, I have been blessed.
But my life is still hard.
I am living in my parents’ house,
I work two part time jobs
and go to school full time.
I still run out of money.
My car is old-
the engine light is on,
but I don’t have the money to fix it.
My friends make fun of the rust.
I have anxiety, social.
fear fresh in my eyes.
My hands shake-
especially when I worry about the future.
Honors Thesis written
Money for food
Gas for car
Scholarships, grants, money for school
And that’s just now (now is almost overwhelming)
If we want to venture,
my past is hard as well.
Good parents, good life.
But my dad is a pastor and a Chaplin (I am proud of my dad)
Two tours overseas, countless days away.
I was twelve.
Diabetes attacked then too,
little twelve-year-old me.
It hurt, more than I realized.
We were always close to financial hardship,
(Pastors aren’t supposed to be rich)
We were hurt by people close to us.
So many things that pile,
bending my spine and twisting my legs
My life is hard.
I can say that.
Why? Because it was.
I can’t, shouldn’t compare my life to anyone else’s.
Because their life was hard too.
Anyone who says differently,
is likely telling a lie.
Life is hard.
And now I admit, my life is hard too.