Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
succubus.
******* the life out of my own body.  
who do I turn to when I’m all gone?
im living in a body that rejects my own existence.
no friends, no family.
NO ONE.
wasting away as life passes by.
sleep is the only place I am free.
creating my own narrative.
at dawn, im back to being a lost soul.
I am from Jamaica
From dysfunctional homes and devastation.
I am from heartbreak
From memories that still make me shiver through the dark and lonely night
From the booming branches and sticks that scrape my window.

I am from my family’s past
The same button nose
That crinkles at the sight of death around me
And the same dark chocolate skin that’s warmed by the bright sun.

I am from juicy, ripe and messy mangoes
And decadent cakes that melt in your mouth
From a Mom who lost it all and gained it back again.

I am from rambunctious Thanksgivings
Tables filled from top to bottom with warm and gooey Apple Pie and chocolatey and dark cake to every food imaginable from my culture
And Christmas trees that keep getting stuffed with ginormous presents each year.


I am the granddaughter and the daughter
From two outstanding women that would give their lives up for each other
I am the sister of two innocent boys who knows nothing of what this cruel world has to offer.
I am the product of two immigrants
From lost and tragedy and realization
From my ancestors who whisper in my ear
I am the future.

— The End —