I'm from the west coast
my favorite snack is
cinnamon toast I'm a
vegan I don't eat pot roast no more I have to leave my
mama's house when I smell oxtails cooking on the stove it makes me weak I still drool and salavate
remembering how good
they taste I can still
see em on top of rice
on a plate
something good I
once craved grannies
probably turning over
in her grave to see the
choices I made to
adjust to the world
today I wish great
grand mama would've
live long enough to
see the Obama's
in the Whitehouse that
would've made her
cotton pickon day
she was born in 1886
and died when she
was 86 on the twenty
second of November
1973 I can't imagine
what she seen in her day
she was from Minnesota
a place I never been I
been almost every where
but never there
she loved to crochet it's
ashame that
we wasn't close knit
her father was name
George Washington like
the president I can't
help but get plantation
vibes off of it they
paid the way and paved
the way for me although
the road has not been
easy the potholes
are getting fixed and
I don't have to walk
barefoot in the snow
and lose a toe and I
wish ten cent could still
buy a meal I'm grateful
for the roots underneath
my feet that keep
me planted standing
on a strong legacy and
continued written saga
when I say they I mean
me too I mean us I mean we are a collective part of
something great and
far beyond our reach
but we will get there
someday and stand on
the hill of promise
and land that is ours
to own reap the benefits
of seed we sow and sown
never to be owned
oppress beaten and
hung again at the
hands of evil men
where we going is not
where we been