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Seedling
Seedling

From my father I inherited anger.
But I feel like that seedling was planted long ago when they tore us from our roots,
Ensuring all the trees would bear strange fruit.
And when you fast forward through time, it appears everyone can dream— but you.
Now I try to stay out of that victim complex,
But it’s hard when it’s so obvious the system was made for us to fail.
Though I think that’s where my father and I differentiate
See, he’s angry at the system, post traumatic slave syndrome—
Why Me. Why Me? Why Me!
I’m angry at the system, like, I’ma learn all your inner workings
Because guerrilla warfare doesn’t work when I know your tactics.
It doesn’t work when I pass on the seedling of knowledge.
It does work however, when I refuse to acknowledge my mistakes.
Because if I can’t admit my wrongdoing in the situation,
I’m just holding us back.
And I think comprehension of that is what my father lacked.
Yeah, yeah the system was made for us to fail,
But you did everything in your power to help it prevail.
The seedling mighta been in the back of their mind but you fit the stereotypical identity almost perfectly
I’m the child of an addict and career-criminal what did you expect them to do?
Yeah, you right you didn’t go back to jail when they finally took me away,
But all those chances in between, you blew.
We need some accountability if I’m being honest.
These braids used to show us our way,
Now we’ve gone astray.
And with all this building up inside of me there is nothing left to say,
But, I inherited anger from my father
The seedling has been throughout our whole lineage,
From years of abuse, tribulations, and lack of self worth.
See it’s highly apparent we all have this anger deep inside of us,
The only difference is what we chose to do with it.
© Jacasso

#blackpoet #poetry #poem