SURVIVAL MODE
POEM
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.
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