I Grew Up Poor And I Am Not A Shame

I grew up poor,
-bare feet, hole in my school uniform poor
callaloo and yellow yam fa’ dinner poor
Tin mackerel and white rice poor
Sore foot hopping to school poor

God! I am proud of it, it makes me strong
self motivator, fighter, go getter… strong
and a no nonsense winner

Yes world! I grew up poor
Roast breadfruit and butter poor
Chasing after the chicken to drop the darn egg poor
Finger licking the pot bottom poor

But God! Thank you, I am rich in so many ways
homeowner in Canada, hard working rich.
It make me a writer rich of my past

I grew up poor!
Straightening my hair with dinner fork poor
Dying my hair with cool-aide poor
Carrying water on my head poor
Run faster than the speed of light
On fried dumpling and sugar and water poor

Let me tell you more; I write it on the snow-capped mountains of Canada.
Red hills and across the ocean of blue, I tell the world in poetry of a

I am not ashamed to say I was born in poverty
Taste the lime juice sweetness of the disease
Suck on its pulp, the rime and the seeds
Till bones chalky white, protrude my eye balls
Through artificial injection suck from the milking cows
-of Appleton estates
I grew a mellow behind from steaming Spanish needle.

Sorry! I was not born with the golden spoon
I grew up with a room full a pick-en-y
our light was the moon, I am made strong

Ask me about poverty? I will say;
yes! I am the fruit of poverty with grace.
The lava and the shells and I will add with pride
I was a outdoor toilet, piss pot under the bed
………………….poor …………………………………

……….And I am not ashamed……………
That everyone knows my name