A Soft Life
Every day,
I walk the tightrope of single motherhood —
I’m crossing ravines whilst under the influence of the patriarchy.
I have tripped and fallen apart in unsteady love,
been left behind season after season like a forgotten thing —
the unread book on a bookshelf gathering dust.
Unable to see the woods for the trees —
I have found my way back home to me after losing myself
battling through the dark days of heartbreaks, disappointments and grief.
I have a warriors spirit;
I am a disciple of Black literary stars,
with a mouth full of blood
and a skinful of scars.
I have bled and still bleed.
I know I can do hard things —
but it’s time that I wrote a soft life into my destiny.
I am a poem.
I want to live as the expression of my dreams.
I need the ease of Sunday mornings to rain down on me
seven days a week.
I want to share my love without struggle
settle and bloom where I find that peace.
I desire comfort and clarity,
great food and great company.
I want to rest then rise with the sun
and sleep all afternoon,
read books in my own library
and have conversations with the moon.
I only want to work to live;
I’m done with the workplace tyranny.
I want to prioritise enjoyment, feel the good life,
real love and gratitude in my bones.
There have been hard seasons
and there will be more challenges and catastrophes,
but this will be the era that I write a soft life into my destiny.
