Trailer Trash, Heart Full

I’ve risen from trenches,
poverty clawed into my skin
before I even knew my name.

Mama worked herself raw,
three children in tow,
love spilling over ragged edges
of hand-me-down clothes
and lunches that weren’t cute,
but full anyway.

Trailer-trash roots deep,
etched into my bones,
witness to drugs, death, hunger.
Could have swallowed me whole—
swallowed some of my siblings, too—
but I carried blessings like bullets,
never letting them rust.

Addiction whispered in the dark,
but I met it with stride,
let it shape me, not break me,
let it carve me into better,
not a mold the world tried to force.

I am grit,
I am love,
I am all the trenches I survived,
and I rise.

Stay Weird. Love You. Mean It

Photo by Danny Greenberg on Unsplash