Steel

Before I walk out the door
I steel up, remembering
that there are people out there
who would prefer I was less inconvenient
and who might even think
I should not have been born
and therefore to see me die
would be either terrific
or at least a relief in terms of 
how much real estate their fear
takes up within them — one less
hell to answer, amirite, one less
mongrel to flay?

Some of those same people
who would disavow this if you asked
say nice things to my face,
might even categorize me
as one of the good ones to my face,
at least until I pop off 
over something they say or believe
and they get me better than they did

and then comes my time to shine
to their faces and I admit
all their wanting me to die 
or never to have existed is not 
just reflected in how I’ve steeled up;

some of that shines forth
from within me.