Description
A little poem about one of my favorite types of people, my people, and what I think of them. (A bit of a back story). I would always look at my mom, and see how great she is, and some of my ancestors, and see how great they were, and I look at West Africa now, and see how great it could've been, and how great Black people could've been if we were aware that we are the reason we are the least in this world, no one else. My dad once said while I was eating dark red grapes, "the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice", and I kept thinking about that and how much it related to Black people. It really is, in my eyes, as if we were fruit, that every one enjoyed, and then became bitter, tasteless, and shameful compared to how we could be. My boyfriend said once, "black people have warm hearts", and I think the same, hens the line, "The brighter the vine the lighter the heart". I just think our minds and souls have grown bitter. He also said, "God, bearer of fruit", which is the entire essence of the poem really.
Blackberries
