Connected to my last post… a love letter to my poverty:
To my dearest Poverty,
O my darling Poverty…
Do not let me rise above you.
Without your recollection, without your scars…
as the alarm bells inside the soul and mind.
Stay with me, my dear “traumas of difficult times.”
And never stop.
Please do not let me forget you.
Let me choose you.
Like the great Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said.
Even as I will be gifted and blessed with such a choice.
Please do not leave me.
I will have more. I must have more.
To stay alive.
But it does not mean that I must forget you.
That I wish to forget you.
As you stayed with me through those many nights dancing with the moon…
I must rise.
I will rise.
Like the great Dr. Maya Angelou once said.
But I don’t want to forget you.
Please know you will never be forgotten.
I want you to come with me.
I need to feel some joy, in this “pursuit of happyness”…
But that sorrow I shared through you must not disappear.
Can never disappear.
I need you.
Forgive me for my emotions, but you are such an intrusive force.
But, mind you, I do appreciate your intrusion.
Shame on me, they say, to show you off to the world.
To boast about you,
To honor you and what you mean to me.
But I don’t care.
I’ll happily flaunt you.
Shame they proclaim, because there is poverty much “worse” than you.
Shame they proclaim, because society shames economic struggle.
Shame they proclaim, because you are not supposed to belong to me.
Oh, my darling Poverty…
Let the evil eye watch me, scorn me, bequeath me, as I rise above you and yet, still remember you in my deeds.
Please don’t let me break this vow to you.
Peace, warmth, and blessings,
Your Sister, Dr. Elsa
“She wasn’t looking for a Knight, She was looking for a Sword.” – Atticus