Strong
I see her, benching more than I weigh as sweat pours out of her pores
She says she wants to be strong
But she doesn't realize that she already is
In her belly she grew three babies, one for 10 months, one for 9, and one who never made it
Her body has absorbed the bruises that used to mar her beautiful brown skin
I wonder how she could ever think she isn't strong enough
Maybe this is why I feel so small
As she benches and lifts and runs, I type out another paragraph or poem
She says that I'm strong too, but standing next to her, I feel like a weakling, a dwarf standing next to a giant in terms of power and feeling like I could never do all of the things she's done, because I will never be as strong as her
Her mother, my Nanay, is the same;
She doesn't bench, but she cooks and cleans and sews and raised three children alone
My Abuelo went away to war while Nanay waged her own battle of raising children, caring for the other foreign fighters' wives, and the judgement of the white wives who couldn't understand her english
And I feel cursed to be a weak woman in a lineage of those who are strong
Lifting worlds on their backs
Never cracking under pressure.
I was told to be strong
My mother stands strong like an ox
I stand in her shadow
"Why won't you do sports?" She asks, frustrated, as I respond with my usual excuse of just not wanting to, because I don't want to tell her how weak I feel.
I want to shout: I'm broken and I can't be like you
You were taught discipline
I was given freedom
You found a way to get your anger out, your anger at the world and your mother and having to raise your brothers and always having to move
I learned to hide
I saw a strong woman reduced to weakness by a man
I learned to stay quiet and run away from my problems and always put on a good face
And I never meant to become so different, but
When you see someone so strong, made so weak, you doubt your own ability to be strong
That's why, out of all the strong women in our family, I am weak
They learned from each other how to create and stand and build and carry the weight of worlds
But despite being one of them, certain situations made me weaker
A lineage of strong women ended by a broken link
A role I fear I have
Wishing I could've picked up on the better habits, the stronger habits
I walk into a weight room and feel angry
Partners ask me how much I want to lift and I give them my mother's best
I struggle and push and lift
But I'm never as strong as her
During this struggle I either envy or hate her
But I don't want to be weighed down by these emotions
Though the pull towards the strong follows me
I stepped into a gym the other day and was disgusted with myself when I couldn't even squat my weight, because my knee hurt too bad
Wishing to be strong in a way I fear I never can
Our lineage of women are strong
Looking down at me with disappointment as I try to get my release from writing this poem.