And then,
When I was young,
My father told me many things
My mama thought was just his grief.
The callous man had called him slurs –
The slurs that got him angry,
Disparaged in his heart as a man,
He felt like he was nothing.
And then,
My father turned and said,
For his children to subdue us
He come and say, he’s not comfortable saying them.
My father told yet me this thing,
That I’d be fooled to think he’s better.
Even though he uses not the slurs,
His teeth are fangs with poison.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem