Salutations

You don't know me.
You sure don't know my worth.
I've trudged and tried and worked
and won and lost and cried
till tears swallowed my soul
and dried up there on the banks
of a river that muddied my toes
and meager existence.
I've scraped pennies and cents
to buy eggs and bread and keep the
damned lights on over cold nights.
You don't know me.
You sure don't know my worth.
How I've bent over backwards
and shovelled literal shit
out of stables wearing jeans
that didn't quite fit
and smiled while I did it.
You don't know me.
You sure as hell don't know my worth.
How I've given birth twice,
raised kids with nickels and dimes
while both of my folks were not alive
and kept striving for opportunity
that passed me because a lifetime
of experience does not equal
a degree.
You don't know me.
I've sacrificed sleep and meals
for college essays in my forties
after a career wouldn't keep me
because I had babies.
I've been cheated, chewed up, re-heated
more times than I can count on both
hands and feet.
I've been greeted with acumen and academia
mansplaining diarrhea
condescending cornucopia of pubescent
ideals for what it means to be a woman.
You don't know me.
Yet, that won't stop me.
My wheels keep turning.
My brain keeps burning
and forgetting more creativity
than you'll ever know in this lifetime.
I keep climbing with bruised knuckles
clinging rungs still fresh from
others' bootsteps.
You don't know me.