Poetry Is Makes Sense If You Try To Understand

Do you have my life?

I was planted into the surface,
Deep down into the futile soil of Africa.
With every drop of water from the sky,
I grow up to my truth self.

My roots crawl though the soil,
As comfort grows in my inner core.
I am starting to like this African grounds.
The water that runs though me,
The sunlight I get,It's enough for my well-being.

As my eyes meets the sun,my skin
Feels the breeze for the first time,
I thought to myself. 'I wanted to grow
In a cluster of colorful flowers.

But, I was surrounded by my kind.
Plants with the same brown skin.

Growing bigger, I wanted to feel big.
I wanted to see color and the
brightness of the world. I wanted to
Explore. But,as a planted,you are planted
At one spot for a reason.

Just one day,when the morning sun
Was starting to burn my skin, I
Was pulled out of my comfort zone.
I was pulled away from the African roots
Into rough brown skin hands.

I let out a heavy sigh and close my eyes.
Where I'm going? why am going?
Why are they taking me? Why me?

After all the questions, I
Finally get an answer.
I wanted to grow I a cluster of
Colorful flowers. This is my chance
To see what I wanted. To explore.

The hand that held me,
Pealed my brown skin out.
Pain build in me as I feel contrite.
The same hand the brought pain to me,
Is the same hand that united me
With others.

My kind but from a different world.
From a different futile airfare
And a different futile soil. Yet
We grown to be the same skin.

We dance in baskets without even
Moving our self. My body moved around
Along with the rest of my kinds.
We went left right, back and forth.
Till our final stop.

Packaged into a see though fabric,
I could get a view of enormous
Creatures walking pass us. Each one
Pulling a sag full of brown skinned.

When my time came, I closed my eyes
As I wonder where the world will take me.
Was I destined to be here? Will I ever get
The chance to see colorful flowers.

I wonder.

As I go though a rough day,
I remember my home. My heart and
Mind can't take it any more. I miss
The soil of Africa. The sunlight that
Turned my skin brown and the breeze
That calm me down every time it met my skin.

Do you have my life?

I was planted into the surface
Of the earth. For what? For who?
For the why?

I was placed onto the surface
Of the wooden table. For what?
For who? And why? My life is
over. I didn't even get a chance to
See the colorful flowers. All I wanted
Was to see the colorful flowers.

She pealed my skin, while
Singing to herself. She
Pealed my other skin, while
Whipping her tears. She pealed
my skin, and I didn't know why.

Every time she cut me.
I cry and so did she. It
Makes me wonder, is she feeling
My pain or she's just mocking me.

After my crying and sobbing,
She throw my pieces into a pot
With hot water. I boiled.

Makes me wonder. Was I destined
To be here. After growing up in
the African Fields, after hand
To hand my life finally ends here.

In the hands of another Creater.
Makes me wonder, do you have my life?