generational trauma
Learn more about other poetry terms
The problem that i didn’t create
It’s Sad.
Disheartening.
To look out and see damage, i have not done
if only i had a pencil,
i could write my way out of the ghetto.
if only i had a pencil,
i could explain the voices in my head that scream in falsetto.
if only i had a pencil,
my niggas are drenched from head to toe in red.
colors matter.
my moms face is overwhelmed in blue.
colors still matter.
traumatized criminalized minds on green.
colors will matter.
They came for us with a cruel voice I won’t forgetRipped from the loved ones I can’t forgetBuried them in a way I shan‘t forgetWith a cruel voice, I’ll never forget
Mother,Did you ever see me as a child
and not a possession?
Or was I the duplicate picture of your second-hand negro barbie,
