I don’t trust myself to write more but I’ll try.
If I were to pass away, cover my grave with marigolds.
Sing me, ‘If The World Was Ending’ softly.
A nice flag would be ok as well.

Message to Readers

Any all, I would love to hear what all of you would say, you cannot have the good without the bad, and when they are together that’s perfect.

No. These Aren’t My Roots.

March 7, 2020


I heard my roots were deep within history. Religion even.
That I descended from the one they call, prophet.
Sometimes i stop and think.

No, it cant be me, i barely see the sky, much less read the books
Or raise my hands in prayer. Not me,
Though i do raise my flag for the people i love.

Mother always said: your blood is holy, be purified, never stray.
Even when she whispers ‘please don’t be gay’.

Right then i realised, my roots aren’t in me.
Exactly whom runs in my DNA is... difficult.
Although who lives in me is easy.
Look and see, its them
Long lost queens fighting for me.
You just have to believe

In reincarnation.
Though my fathers father and my mothers mother
Still linger in my footsteps

My roots are with those who passed
Young brothers and sisters i call them

Slain for there love
Of that boy or girl or them
Unjust it was but i
Love my roots.

Because without them.
Theres no me.

There is always a poem behind another.

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