And still…
To feel the weight
And still rise
To feel the weight and forgive
To feel the shades of life
And wear its colors
Is what it means to me.
The greatest honor at the greatest price
To feel
To hold the pain of generations before you
To hold the broken things and still be cut
By words, you undo curses lashed at you.
Sensitive black sheep you
Feel each word like rhythms turnt colors and every subtlety and injustice felt
Like an off beat off rhyme scheme hearing niggas rolled off the tongue
And Hip hop embodied without the weight it intended to carry by them
Depthless.
Because this shit runs deeper than your best friends, than your sometimes
Mother father, than your neighbor who may have been good to You.
Who may have been kin to you?
Get Elytheiya’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Who may have even held you
And the whip generations ago in the same
Time
To break the karmic debt,
Oh but did we sell ourselves and forsake our Mother(s) for…
But did we mistake our Mother?
But did we miss — .
But did we take our mother’s words
And cast Her into the forgotten lands,
Begging forgiveness in upright fetal positions praying to Him for mercy?
She’s laughing, maybe.
And then you rise unknowing and fall again.
To feel the weight and still rise
Again.
To feel the weight and rise
To feel the weight and
Still ask yourself for…
Mercy, when your faith only carried as far as your next prayer.
Expecting nothing
To feel the weight and rise.
