My Hidden Cultures

(po My Hidden Cultures Our father which art in heaven, hollowed be thy name It was establish, in my blood And warrior codes creased into their faces My roots People who bleed their last dreams for me to hold in my confidence My roots grew past the cigarettes and glass bottles that grow in fichus instead of grass I was planted Deeply rooted where i would be steadfastly immobile I want to be planted where the ominous expression sings hymns to those Who hide ignorance behind their ears I want to sow the soliloquies my ancestors have planted, standing strong, being counted Because i gave birth To metaphors, metaphors that hits the minds of those who don't know who i am Gave birth to the sounds that rattle your rib cages causing you to think about aborting poetry If i only had one seed I wouldn't bury underneath the sin that my father had left on me If i had a single seed I would sing his lullabies that reach his roots So that he knows what's in his blood and know my people My people, were the ones who lived between renaissance and 155th8th avenue They were the ones outside your window Getting high to heaven and wasted until jazz couldn't take away the evidence As they stroke the sins from their hair, i still pray the prayer grand ma taught me Our father which art in heaven hollowed be thy name They were free