This new home I call a prison, is disguised as the suburban kids who roar at the people who made them, it's disguised as the hood kids who wield guns and a vicious mindset. But its tricked my people, tricked them like the land tricked its people. Land of the free is deception to its prisoners, McDonalds is the poison food they feed them.
I miss the tales my grandma used to tell me, I miss her farm that held the chickens and pigs I used to admire. But most of all, I miss my family, my blood that staid behind, they said they stay true to the mother tree they grew from. An apple does not climb up the higher and mightier tree, they stay with the tree they grew from, whether it is dying or not, this tree is their mother, and the children stay with the mother, sick or healthy.
But not only that, if the tree has infestation, her children won't leave her to die. Though they cannot heal her, they stay with her, they try to not notice her passing away, and they feed her the most soup and medicine they can until they see their mom standing. I admire my cousins for staying, they are the loyal children who staid.
ns 15.158.61.11da2
