Today I am not writing poetry.
Today I am not writing prose.
Today I am not writing scripts.

Today I am venting.
I am venting about turning 40 next April because sometimes I still feel 20.
I am venting about my son’s acne because it bothers me more than it does him.
I am venting about my daughter’s daddy because he just doesn’t get it sometimes.
I am venting about singleton socks because they’re hiding.
I am venting about my missing tank tops and my weight gain.
I am venting about being an adult daughter in my parents’ home.
I am venting about student loans coming due at Christmas.
I am venting about gasping for breath so I don’t burst into tears.
I am venting that I want a day off and feel guilty about it.
I am venting that being poor is expensive in America.
I am venting that I am tired of being strong and wish I had a soft place to fall.

Maybe today I am writing poetry.