Things that Matter, From God to Mathers
I know you think I hate you
But I’ve been lovin’ on you
Since before the day I made you.
That your writing on the dotted line
It’s my design to help you define
All the pain and shame that surrounds you.
To be there for you
And that your mother messed up
But it was me holding your head up
When you were crying in the dark
In the trailer park when the days were long
And all you had was your song.
I know the way races discriminate
As they disseminate their resolve to hate
And life hits you in the face
And makes you bleed
But my own son shed blood to bring you home
To me.
But your baby’s gotta know me.
Could you see if you got time to rap a song about me?
I gave her to you to fill the hole
That is eating your soul
While I wait for you to turn to me.
It’s not too late you don’t have to fake
That you’re fine when you’re really
Dying inside.
Gate Garbage Sweat Shells
Colombian border
Compounded fence opens as gate swings out
And we trudge past the cows that graze in the streets
And stare at us and “moo” at cars trying to get through.
Trash in the neighborhood where our dorm
Is the highest building standing two stories.
clouds
Interrupted only by the
which blur purple into the western sky.
I trudge with big plastic bags that
Stick to my legs when I let them hang.
To step in the cool grass that shades feet
As I snatch up broken bottles and crumpled
Paper and faded chip bags to add
To my rubbish sack.
That wrinkle my nose into a funny face.
Some plants seem to leak bug juice.
Step in deeper to grab the last crumpled bag and
Stop.
Shells Shot Gun. Guerillas?
Across the street from the school.
There’s been talk.
Camping trips to surrounding forests canceled because of the infiltrators.
Soon, the missionary boarding school will close
And all its citizens shipped off to safer places
Where the sky no longer stretches into mountains
And neither do the cows share paths.
