Poet, Photographer, Creative
You dishonor the father and your mother
When you murder your own brothers over colors
We become fools instead of royalty
When you as a queens doubt your kings
We become weaker as men if you listen
To how we speak down on our women
And trade the name bitch for their givens
One thing I learned…
You get what you earn
Polo and Jordan’s but mama struggling
Designer doesn’t mean anything when family still suffering
Pain is not only a knife slicing through flesh.
It can begin as unnoticeable as a baby’s pinch.
In time the pressure grows and the nails get sharper.
The infant grows into an adult so the fingers strengthen.
The grip becomes tighter…
The torturous hold seems unbreakable though the bond is still compassionate.
The pain is no longer hidden since the cause is now apparent.
The thing that’s caused so much hurt is now obvious to see.
The tiny fingers have in time become the knives that you dreaded.
The real question now is, can you abandon the child?
Can you truly learn to leave something you once held and loved so dearly but now causes more grief than good?
Can you?
Pain…
Too Distinct 