PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Hey Girl.. Yes you the black one.

Looking at a halo graphic time lapse of my life makes me wonder what was my parents thinking. Who thrives to give birth under distress and demographic struggles? My mom did, her green eyes unlocked many doors but her skin tone kept many locked. My daddy raised with a Tuscaloosa odor of sweet corn and okra kept me on track physically but mentally I was getting my ass whooped. Who am I? A mistake? Should I been a mystery in a wash cloth after sex or a prayer of please god get me pregnant? I pick neither. Tethering the pain of can I make it in society or will God stop me from taking my life like my cousin Aaron. Closed eyes with open ears delegate my daily path while I squeeze my amethyst crystal of love while I hold my fake laughing Buddha looking for wealth. 

I think God hates me!I’m struggling as a mom, wife, daughter, cousin, aunt and lastly friend. I exchange my faith for love, I use my love as a guide to protect my faith. I watch television of wants and small waists that causes me to look for a cheap plastic surgeon. Who said it was right? I can’t blame society, this is a God issue. I was told don’t question him? I was told just respect and love him. My heart is seeking what you are speaking of. My brain is thriving if illegal stereotypes that is killing my soul. How can I make it in society without being an Nigga stereotype. Oh that word! That word is just an Ebonics connotation of life long ignorance. Did you pray for me? I prayed for you, but I don’t know you!. See that metaphor do onto others as you would want them to do into you. I’m a helper by nature but my gate is silent with a creek that slowly lets you in. I’m nothing to a class of 23, I’m nothing to my six kids, I’m nothing to my husband, I’m nothing to society, I’m nothing to the world but I am somebody to myself.