As I sit and wait for my day of judgment,
I ponder the future.

Can I continue to live my life as I dream and desire?
Or will I remain doomed to a lifetime of cries
and days of gloom?

People say that I am arrogant and full of myself.
I say that if you really know me and my life,
you would understand the struggle that lies within my heart.

Living as I do, I have to be this way.
Not able to shed tears, for fear
that my moment of weakness will appear.
Trying to remain hard,
not to show my cards
so that I can have another day of happiness with my kids.

Learning how to be a mother and a woman above all,
and yearning for the life of a family: I so desperately need that.

But I have to put my past life behind me
and never look back.

I can’t live the past and feel peace within my heart,
because if the streets don’t wear me down,
the nightmares will tear me apart.

They say crying heals the soul.
I wonder how true that is.
I cry every night in hopes that I get my soul back.

This is a two-way street, so speak—
but I am sorry to say,
it can only go one way.

we wait. The sun steady

in its track. Vicissitudes

of light, shadows thinning,

growing long. We endure

and wait. Salvation in

the hour before the hour

before dusk. The seedlings

come twirling down,

skittering along the street.

The shadows quiver like

benevolent ghosts. The trees

cackle their sussurant laugh.

And we, impatient, sentient

beings, wish time to be inert.