Apple Tree

the Blood from my Mother

is Thick like Syrup;

Bones don't Crack in this household

i carry the maternal weight

of Generations

i feel their adamant Will in my Gut;

sit up Straight they say

look him in the eye and hold it

push your Struggle down his Throat

Devour Him Whole.

there is Purpose brewing inside of Me

my Body is ready to Unleash generations of Unrest

i have my Mother's temper;

Volatile at best.

on most days,

i Bleed indefinitely

Crimson drops on paper

turn to Waterfalls

and to the Generations:

let me change this forbidding world for You.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My family

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