The black man is a ****. An invasive species. Look at it and you know it is true. Brought over from another place, because it benefited the people at the time. Not truly welcomed, but endured for the fruit it produces. Initially, why was this plant selected for extrication? Not because it was the same as all the other plants you already had, but because it was superior. Superior enough that voyage after voyage was endured to secure more of this precious cargo. The true superiority of the **** goes unseen, until you attempt to eradicate it. You try to poison it in Tuskegee, you try and stomp it out with white robed men and then with blue, try and starve the plant with lack of food and remove it from the sun into giant cellars of stone.. but for all these efforts, the weeds grow back stronger and their fruits more supple. For all the lies of the civilized, the sweet nectar of their berries dances upon the tongues of the very populous that defines them as such; a ****. You stop your car on the roadside, and enjoy the juices of the black berry cursing it’s thorns, but never stopping to question why it bothers to grow them. Success is defined by an unhindered view of monocultured sameness, and unbridled landscaping of ones own design. Yet, that delicious black berry still draws you away to the fringes of your own kingdom to taste something different. That which grows, unlike the cultivated Lillie’s in your line, unaided, and in fact in opposition to the desires and actions of the landholder. What draws you to the field-side berry? The same thing that begged your ancestors to uproot the plant and bring it back in the days that have passed. The notable qualities of goodness that you suppress in attempt to dismiss the dissonance in your head. The truth is that the berry is good, and the plant is strong. The only problem is that you gave it nowhere to grow.

**** definition: a plant that is not valued where it is growing and is usually of vigorous growth.