1st poem

many things broke me,

I won’t dare tell a lie.

But from the soil I was buried in,

I planted roots—regained a life.

Can’t assassinate the man I am today,

but I stay aware for peace of mind.

Can’t deter me from the path I’ve chosen,

still crossing fine lines, dodging crooked eyes.

I can spark a fire from my rage—

no flint stones, but my drive

turns disbelief into amazement.

I’ve been silent.

I’ve been working hard.

I’ve been patient.

I’ve been tired of the lies,

never surprised by the wicked eyes.

I’ve learned to stay away

from those who’d trap my blessings

inside these pages.

I know…

I know you think I’m perfect.

I know you think it’s false bravado.

Probably think I’m in over my head—

truth is, I’m still searching for purpose.

What you call tomato,

I call tuhmotto.

Different speeches, different teachers,

but the color reads the same.

And if by the end of the day,

our souls are nourished—

then I’ve done my work,

and the seed I planted still grows.