Inside Out

Is the anger in me
the ebb, flow of anger,
deep within me,
they should have told me,
warned me, even.
Yea! how 'bout warning, eh?!
'bout the scar of mi flesh
all over me.
The wound of being.
I look,
back, wonder
'bout that wound
like the searing of flesh
in a prison-house.
I scream, i fight,
i get mad.
Ain't nobody know pain
like black woman
she pass on pain
like ulcer, in bloodline.
When she wails
it carry fire to burn hell over,
and water fi she children, no suffer.
But, there is a crushing power
over me.
It feeds on me.
If i could rip this flesh,
burn this flesh,
kill history.
We want to burn history.
She born with anger--
was fed
from my mother's breast--
she lost her anger, chose to forget.
The forces on me tell,
say i must never forget,
long as i breathe.
Breathing is hard when you're angry
when you fight everyday.
I must learn to breathe everyday.
Everyday my flesh confronts me
condemn me.
If i could transform it,
exchange it
for a dead history,
maybe she won't suffer,
the next line.