Mama told me, my first two sisters were stillborn

Her first two children I never knew

I claim to be her first child, but I’m not suppose to be here

She notice one day that I was not moving in her stomach

That made her go to the hospital, to see were I to be still too

I think I seen the future, and tried suicide

because the doctor told her my umbilical cord was wrap around my neck

I must have known this world was hell

I see why the first two stillborn rejected

I’m not suppose to be here, sharing this poem with you all

I’m suppose to be free from burdens

I was smart enough to take the easy way out

but Mama persisted to let Dr. Cole cut her open, and pull my still body out

I wonder what they did to get me back breathing

I now understand my secret powers to hold my breath so long

I’m not suppose to be here but Mama must have begged God

God knew why I shouldn’t see what I see now

you all call it the big picture, I call it the Big Apple

and I’m not talking New York

Mama what was it you wanted to show me in this corrupt world

how corrupt I’ll become?

I’m not suppose to be here, but since I’m here, hear me out

When I leave, don’t cry, I’m gong to a second place and plus,

I wasn’t suppose to be here in the first place

Not in a world that teaches you to love, but hate you

Not in a world that teach you not to kill

but don’t practice what they preach

I’m not suppose to be here having this sick feeling in my stomach

but lying to you like everything is all right

I’m not suppose to be writing this poem exposing myself

To total strangers like you all

I’m suppose to be still, enjoying silence, knowing no pain, no stress

I’m suppose to be there, not here, but yet…

I wrecked the car totally, I overdose on drugs

I fought more than ten at one time

I rode in the passenger seat when the jeep overturn

I put the fire out with my bare hands

I been wrap across the head with a broomstick that broke

I been in riots that involve weapons

I been push underwater by a drowning friend

I caught a fastball unaware by wiping sweat from my eye

I curse God in my anger hoping to be strike

I lost both emergency and regular brakes while driving

But yet I’m still here instead of stillborn. I’m not

suppose to be here, but my reason, I didn’t know, until now…

I was sent to write a poem, and give it to workshop.