Their dead souls won’t let me grow

My roots were grown in the deep south

Fully grown and ready to become a habitat and bring shade

from the scorching sun rays, while resting songbirds who symphonize the beginning of  day

But I began too become a display for corpses to decay as I watched on seeing a mob walk away

Not before they took pictures so they could relish those moments with “souvenirs to mount

Grown to reach the heavens but below me were acts filled with venom

Hell would be proud of this crowd

Dangling lives for so many decades I’ve lost count

Maybe that’s due to all the frightened screams and broken necks I’ve got to take into account

Remnants of their spirits

Use powers to carve their faces on me as a reminder

Of the day they were executed

Giving pressure to my branches that once held them

Wondering why I was a victim in this situation

Unbearable to hold onto the weight that I carried for years

My branches full with leaves snap instantly

Until I’m naked with nothing to show for

As months pass by I begin to notice my branches won’t grow

Winter comes along and now I’m covered in snow

Finally realizing every season of the year all the towns southern whites came to me to see a “show”

 

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