Poem #6/30: At Last


I have a proud streak
and a mean one
the latter armors the former
emanates from a broken heart
I tow with pride because who
is going to ask if you kept your heart
in tact at the end of it; when you’ve outlived all your friends and not a single story to prove you were there, in person. 
When it hurts I tell myself: that’s what I’ll have, a worn heart
and all those stories. When it hurts too much, at last - I tell myself thank god for the at least. Thank god.