Who knows what domestic violence is?
What are you used to at 4 in the morning?
Silence?
Not screaming?

Picture thinking with each blow
You just heard your mother’s death
Then a scream comforts you
Knowing she breathes another breath

I hope every reader knows
This is the realest poem I ever wrote
Its just a shame
It’s about my mother being grabbed by the throat

Who knows what it means to write poetry
With eyes closed, tears blurring the writing
Being raised in insanity
It’s so hard to deal with everything

The son of this is bound to be a fuck up
My childhood years
Trying to be a man
Holding back tears

What could hell have
For me to be afraid of
I’ve seen everything in life
Except Love

I pray to Black Jesus
Knowing my father ain’t the problem
My mother forces it
So how could I blame him?

This poem is for anyone
Who will never be the same again
Because of something
Nothing to do with them