Young Ox

Sat, 02/14/2015 - 20:46 -- Itiopia


I am the trunk of the chopped tree submerged under the weight of trampled earth.

I am the dirt underneath your finger nails.

I have no polish.

I am Sandy's nephew and Katrina's first love.

I am a global and generational refugee.

My home is self-love and never self loathing.

I am self-determination.

I am consistency.

I am continous failure on the verge of a substantial breakthrough.

I am my mother's first born.

I am black like gator bait  in the Everglades

I am fist up, I'll shoot back.

I am mediocrity's nightmare.

I am 




They call me Young Ox

Who are you?


This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Our world


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741