I am good at this shit

I am good at this shit. At living and breathing and pretending the world isnt on fire. I forged coal filled lungs to adapt to the fire. I mustered up suction cup hands to cling to this life I have. I am good at this shit. At adapting to the chance of failure. I'm two steps ahead of her, she's running me down while I grow wings. I'm good at this shit. At laughing when all I want to do is howl in my misery, my voice changing octaves so you couldn't tell the difference. At carrying it all when my arms are already full, transforming these arms into octopus tentacles. Im good at this shit. At adapting, adapting, adapting. I can morph into what it takes to take on the worst of it. Give it to me, all the bad, wrap it up in what looks like promise and watch me turn it into just that. I am good at this shit. At pretending this back bone I grew didnt come from the weight of it all, from carrying the sludge that threatens to drown me. I've carried worse within my soul and called it growing. I am good at this shit. At being a woman, at being it all. At morphing into who I have to be to fight for the space I take up. At opening my arms wide, waving them up and down to remind you that I am here, that I exist. I am good at this shit, good at being the woman you told me not to be. I am good at this shit, at convincing you I'm the lamb when I'm really the wolf wrapped in a red cloak. In the harshest environments I grow like a persistent weed. I am good at this shit at being woman, at wearing many hats to take on the life I've lived. I am good at this shit because I never had a choice not to be. -M.D. Long