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


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

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