The Soil

Pour some soil on the snow and tell me what you see.

"A vivid spot of brown!"

Pretty much like she.

She was different, very different, an outcast to the snow.

The diversity they all didn't and didn't want to know.

They wondered what she was? Why she was?

How she was?

All looks of horror, fear, and hatred like she was the cause.

Was she hated because they feared her?

Feared from afar.

She might not live to know,

She wasn't wanted like a sports car.

The beatings, the torture, the pain, the trauma,

All of this because she wasn't birthed from

their mama?

The abduction, the abuse, the neglect, they refuse.

"Let her go!"

No, they won't! They get their money from this show!

Their pleasure growing higher, watch as it grows,

While she cowers in pain.

"Lower! Can't you go low?"

The force, the stress, the disgrace, they have forgotten

How they made her strive so much to "Pick up that cotton!"

They stole, they lied.

She cried, she whined.

She wasn't treated like the rarest treasure they could find.

She prayed and prayed to cast and bind all evil she had faced on this white-washed land.

"Sango, Osun, Oya!" She called, the deities she knew that worked this world.

"Eledumare! Jowo gba mi! My creator, please, please help me!"

She was weak; she was frail, she seemed to have failed

But her prayers didn't end up like a long-lost tale.

"Ma beru, ma foya. Don't fret, don't tremble.

Mo wa pelu e and against the ungentle

Who rebel."

She believed so she fought,

Not the weakling they had thought,

What use was the bullet in her gun because without it

She had won.

To them she lacked power,

Useful when in need of a tower,

But what they didn't know was she would rise up even higher

With a POWER OF HER OWN.