2/30 ~ Where I Come From

When you ask me where I come from

I must speak of broken things

I must speak of my kintsugi


Broken plans

Early arrivals


Broken promises

Forever fighting


Broken stoops

By gentrification dreams


Broken hearts

Broken starts

Broken and stolen lands

Broken and calloused hands


Portmore and Kingston sings

Of streets my ancestors breathed


Ireland

Scotland

Cuba Motherland

Stolen stripped and rebranded

Strong Colonizer hand


Where I come from

is broken things


Grandma's heart

Grandfather's ears

Mother's childhood

Father's past


Where I come from

is broken things


Mama's future

Her dreams live on in me

Not without a share of jealousy


Papi's passion

Oozes from my pores

Birthday present not wasted

enjoyed

blossoming from palm

flourishing through the broken tear-drenched faces


Grandma's spirit

Raging within these bones

Fighter she is

now and forevermore

Watch out for what's in store

Witness the power

Impossible to deny her roar

Warrior in pink

Warrior in Jamaican jungle print


Impossible to deny my roar
her echo
her legacy
changing the past
into beautiful kintsugi
into aches
as a phoenix, i rise

When you ask me where I come from

I must speak of broken things

But God has taken the broken pieces

Mended them with his light

Guided their steps righteous

Into a masterpiece

priceless to behold


[2.apr.2020]

#napowrimo2020


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"Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them."