POEM
SURVIVAL MODE
Sometimes our inability,
To be where we ought to;
Is not a lack of capacity
But a world we're born into
The apex of our existence
Mama always tells us,
Is not marked by luxury
Rather a mode of little comfort
When raised in streets
That lacked equity and consensual support
The end therefore becomes,
A life in a bubble of survival
No highs, no lows
No best, no worst
Dominated by the prosperous
We become a bunch of survivors
Now sitting by the oak tree,
Still not able to teach the young ones,
To strive to be the big name
And not live in their shadows.
Comments