Black seeds of Black weeds,
Undesired, alone,
Wild and untamed,
No memories of home.
Resilient and strong,
smooth cocoa branches,
bloom despite hate,
roots firmly planted.
Shackled to serve,
struggle and toil,
in a poisonous garden,
on infertile soil.
The most unprotected
expected to quench all.
And thrive without love,
standard protocol.
Unwanted, mistreated.
Vines tangled and cursed.
For daring to be different
and deliciously diverse.
Rebellious florae, who continue to grow
in places no-one chose to sow,
rejecting the thorns of conformity,
embracing a beauty only they can see.
About the Creator
Tamesha Morris
I am a Denver-based poet and storyteller whose work rewires the myths America tells about itself. My writing lives at the intersection of racism, truth and political critique, blending humor and unsettling imagery.


Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.