Some crawling under my skin, making my stomach twist.
Some hurting parts of my body that I didn’t know exist.
Some tearing through your feet, tying you tightly to your bed.
Some lying in the open coffin that looks like your head.
Entangled inside us, are our Roots,
Some, a little old and green.
While some, a little young and stale.
Roots that tell us where we belong and
Where we come from.
That tell us who we are and who we can be.
That tell us what we’re made of and
If, where we are, it is safe to breathe.
Some, a horrific pale-white.
While some, a disgusting brownish-black.
Pushing us away and pulling us back.
Some seem incomprehensible and unknown while
Some, we think we can understand.
Some are more muscular than others.
Some, too skinny or too round.
Roots that never want us to leave
So they keep pulling us to the ground.
Some feel uncomfortably long and,
Some are too short to reach your feet.
Some look for chances to create distances between those who they don’t even know and,
Some stick together like they had been born out of the same seed.
Roots that make us feel high and then low,
Roots that sometimes, don’t let us grow.
They are because we are, but,
They won’t let us know
That they are our Roots.
So, if they hurt us inside and,
Don’t let us show,
We can let them go.
Let them go.