An African American man reflects on his life while starring into an unforgiving mirror. He sees all of his flaws and points them out. He decides to that making fun of himself being overweight will make others not pick on him. From a very young age he tries to understand why he is fat and why he isn’t being accepted by his peers or by himself. He enters middle school and tries to get his footing on where he fits in. Is it in band where everyone is a little strange or in football where a fat kid is a weapon? He wades through the mud and finds himself in a speech and debate class where he actually has a voice that can say something meaningful. As he gets his footing with who he is his body turns against him and the diabetes takes over. An unwanted guest that will never leave his body, but how does he accept and how does he move forward? By looking in the mirror and seeing the wonderful person he is looking at. By accepting his own reality and knowing that he can help himself but the first step is acceptance. *This is not a collection. It is one solo lengthy poem.


  • Reflections The mirror, is a single reflection of the person we really are. I often stare in it. Eyes gazing upon a monument hand crafted by Egyptian slaves. People who are known for perfection very precise sense of direction, my mom told me they created me but sometimes I question her judgement. I question my body as if it was a multiple-choice test and I fail every time. The answer that I think is right is always wrong. The A, B, C, D never speaks to me. I am not listed on this answer sheet. But why? I remember I when I was 10 years old sitting in front of the TV, no dinner table for my family, just a rug that has seen more food stains than grandmas apron, I open the burger wrapper, beginning to take a bite but I wait, I open my mouth and I ask my mom how come we never eat vegetables like the white people. Burger in her hand, she looks at me. Face turns pal, her eyes begin to water and I see a rushing wave of tears beginning to fall down her face and she just stares at me. First tear falling down her cheek like the first drop of rain before a hurricane, she says son, it's because we can't afford to get it. Not really hearing what my mother said I just get up and run into her arms I wipe her face and give her a kiss already forgiving her for this mistake. Not a mistake that she had control over. She did the best she could, and the tears roll and I hold her: child to mother. I held her so tight.




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