I've always wondered whywhite peoples gods' chiseledthem out of cold hard marble.Shaped and sculpted theirfragile skin into being.My god didn't mold me.She met mehalfway between hell and earth.She asked my nameand wiped my tears.She gave me a gentle kiss and with a chuckletold me,"Keep livin' baby".I waited for her tobolster my resolveand harden my emotionsto the cruelty to come.I thought she would turnmy fear into saltmy insecurities into weapons.But she lit a cigaron my burning desires"Babydoll the world is cold and hard."She held my chin"If you are hard and cold too,you'll roll right offlike a marble on a globe."She opened her palmand I saw myself,a heap of warm mud.She set me on the groundand whispered to mein my primordial soup,"the more they chop,the deeper you'll root.They will run out of axesbefore you run out of earth.They can burn the world to ashesand still, you can regrow."