Mu ncles rum soaked slurrs were

the perfect side dish to my mothers seasoned shrieks

Dust wept bewteen my cousins toes

as I indent striking lines into the leftover burnt ashes

I am the musician, the poet, the problem

My uncles smoked kisses fight with my aunts

As they fight about black rights, gay rights and how unnantural it is to be gay

spooned porridge seeps from the mouth of a little brown baby

who will one day realize the world does not love her

Skinned knees and peeled coconuts

are living the jamaican dream

Brown babies sleep on brown comfoters

as black men foght for the power they wishes they had

the power that is stirred deep into 

a pot of curry

dissolving to

melt the mouths of those same brown babies

The balck pits of ackee 

burn my soul

I am the example of what a good child looks like

but would I still be that if he realized his

sweet niece isnt who he thought she was

As you switch yoru she's to he's trying to convince 

yourself that you're not that

"Did it work?"