It used to be that my openings were furtive,
threadbare,
only available once the fabric of time had worn so thin
that potential was inevitable.
I took what I could get,
and what I got was more akin to the random of ragged
than the intention of lace.

It never once occurred to me that there were other options.
Something more than a space large enough to glimpse
what might be possible
If only I knew where to look.
Opportunities were for those more deserving.
Room to breathe for those entitled to it.

Poor was more than just a tax bracket,
it was a mindset
that kept me shackled,
regardless of how hard I worked,
because I never believed I deserved more

Keeping the door closed,
in the hope that opportunity knocks,
restricts me to only those things that show up,
and make enough noise for me to take notice.

There is an art to the hustle,
in the bustle of activity that comes when
heart and mind
aren’t just open
but aligned.