To My Momma

To my momma,

who has swallowed the amerikan dream

and choked on it.


To my momma,

whose dreams have fought each other–

and died.


Who sees,

but cannot bear to see.

A volcano eating its own lava.


To my momma, who couldn’t turn

hell into paradise

and blamed herself.

Who has always seen

reflected in her mirror

an ugly duckling.


To my momma,

who makes no demands of anyone

cause she don’t think she can afford to.

Who thinks her money talks

louder than her womanhood.


To my butchfem momma,

who has always

taken care of business.

Who has never drifted

hazily to sleep

thinking, “he will take care of it.”

Who has schemed so much

she sometimes schemes against herself.


To my sweet, shy momma.

Who is uneasy with people

cause she don’t know how

to be phony,

and is afraid to be real.


Who has longed for sculptured gardens.

Whose potted plant

dies slowly on the window sill.


We have all been infected

with a sickness

that can be traced back

to the auction block.


You must not feel guilty

for what has been done to us.

Only the strong go crazy.

The weak just go along.


And what I thought was cruelty,

I understand was fear

that hands, stronger than yours,

and whiter than yours,

would strangle my young life

into oblivion.


Momma, i am proud of you.

I look at you

and see the strength of our people.

I have seen you struggle

in the dark;

the world beating on your back,

dragging your catch

back to our den.

Pulling your pots and pans out

to cook it.

A mop in one hand.

A pencil in the other,

marking up my homework

with your love.


The injured have no blame.

Let it fall on those who injure.


Leave the past behind

where it belongs–

and come with me

toward tomorrow.


I love you mommy

cause you are beautiful,

and I am life that springs from you:

part tree, part weed, part flower.


My roots run deep.

I have been nourished well.

-Assata Shakur

I needed this.

Until Next Time,



Assata motivation via internet!

About thepsych1

I am a natural progression. As I learn and grow, so does this blog as a reflection of myself. Poetry Art Videos Critique Let's collaborate. Bring your friends.
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