the shift. shifting.

the shift. shifting.

she came in on the bus
i was sittin in back of
lookin tired
tired like she been tired
like she woulda bent
but somehow it got so hard
she just broke
broke so many times
she wasn’t never connectin again

we wasn’t just fightin over land man
we was fightin for
our language
our GOD
our wisdom
the way we made love
for who our kids was gonna be
our legacy

she was
every slave’s daughter
the mother of a nation
the river of tears’ source
a sorceress
the scar of every lash
an ember of beauty
a sigh
that never surfaced

of course we walk around wit’ a chip on our shoulder:
talk a language that aint ours
then git judged on how we speak
we so lost
we don’t even know who to fight:
gon’ shoot each other
but then run from police
we stuck where don’t nobody want us
cuz our home
aint home no more


2 comments on “the shift. shifting.

  1. Very well written. You’ve expressed the essence of having a home -fighting for a home – and losing a home. Very deep and every word you wrote meant something deep and true. Thanks for sharing.


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