People always tell me, “he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth,”
But how did his mother form a spoon of silver?
Was his mother made of gold,
Placenta made of diamonds?
Perhaps, instead, the doctor placed it
As he placed the eggs with daddy’s *****.
Where is it, then, can I find a silver spoon
To insert into my ******,
Believing my procreation will hold
It locked between her lips as she makes her exit?
Dreary days await,
Between a dying black mother and a teen
Without abortion options,
Between unaffordable housing and
The pricy whole food grocery store,
Between budget draining formula and
Deprecating comments from men without
**** - or kids.
So, tell me, then where is my silver spoon?
How can I put it inside,
Store it away to upcycle into education?
But it sure would be nice
Not to walk down to the corner pawn shop
And request an education - her education.
I’m not asking for a handout,
Because look where we are, drowning
Amongst failed startups in
Pursuit of the American Dream.
I’m asking for simple decency,
And for you to share with the future
The very means in which have buried
Your sensibility
To maybe lessen the anxiety
And suicidal rates of a country
Founded on freedom
That is trapped by pharmaceuticals
And the choice of living rich
Or dying broke.
I’m only asking for some decency,
To share your boat with sinking dreamers.
I’m only asking for you to plant a seed.
I can do the watering.

I’m only asking for a little bit of decency.