Live jazz in the airport
A chicken salad for lunch
Feeling the weight of our privilege
I discipline my mind:

“This too, will pass.” “Don’t give yourself too much credit, nor berate yourself either.”

I imagine
That sweet music born from sorrow
Now falls on spoiled ears
In a world full of inequality
So personal in my youth

Others have had it worse
I think
I should be grateful for my struggles
The lowest among kings
Is after all, still a king

But the bitterness remains
Lending a sadness to this moment
Spoiling the salad a little bit
A young girl wants to heal