Poem: "Roots"

You have the roots

of your land

flowing through your veins,

stamped on your skin, and

falling off the tip of your tongue.

They are in the frizz of your hair,

the hoods of your eyes, and

the breath of your being.

They stand in your shadow,

follow your walk,

hang by your side,

preparing for your inevitable fall.

They stay,

even when you don't want

a reminder of your abode

when you want to get rid

of the smell they connote

when the eyes gaze

from above to below, and

tell you to go back home

you don't belong

in the land of snow.

Go back to the roots

where hot summer suns

burn the skin off your soles

where you long for bleach

to pierce your skin to pure peach

when you still don't belong

because your roots

found home

in your body,

where they belong.