Title: Something to Cry About

It is not in the softness of my voice or the neatness of my desk. It is in the way I kept showing up, medicated for the medication that treated the medication, and still walked in every morning like a woman who belonged there. That is me. Someone said something that should have broken me open in front of him. I would not give him my tears. I reached for a chili pepper instead, bitten straight, held between my teeth like a decision. The moment passed differently than he expected. Strength was never going to look like composure. It was always going to look like a woman finding whatever was within reach and using it. That is me.