Marshekia Raven

Searching for Home

You don’t know what home feels like until it no longer exists. When the comforts of the love that was embedded in your soul, and poured out of your physicality daily is no longer apart of your routine, you know that place you found familiar has lost its kinship to your spiritual and fleshly being. Stripped of your culture, your heritage that enveloped you-called you – summoned you into greatness was taken in a heist so greatly accomplished that the thieves still reap the benefits of this bounty to this day. The intelligence mishandled, falsely assigned, funds misappropriated and familial connections left behind. The horizon full of yellows, and the plentiful land mixed with hues of all shades of browns, burnt orange sun reflections and the reds, greens, and blacks- so beautiful that they most certainly are deeply indescribable. Chiseled faces, with cheekbones only the runways of Heaven could behold. Skin tones free from blemishes caused by man-made toxins and diseases. Skin so buttery smooth to the touch that you forget it belongs to a human being. I do not remember my home because I only know the stories that I have been spoon fed. Truths never proven- only hypothesis and probabilities of the homes of my ancestor’s existence.