Smoking The Cancer Weed Poem by Collette Y Anderson Williams

The youth in me was taught
how to smoke the weed of non-acceptance.
There were fleeting glimmers
of physical affections - I believe
- but they strove to endure any lasting shine.
So, the cancer grew.

There was no cavity for mistakes
every task - whether simple or complex
had to be done perfectly.
The reward for blunders was
to smoke the weed of anger.
So, the cancer grew.

The world that nurtured me
compelled me to accept
that only the man holding the handle
had the power to be right - all the time.
-I was nothing but fallible.
So, I smoked the weed of hardness
and brutal punishment - abuse.
And, the cancer grew!

That little, yet vast cosmos that moulded me
was short of heartfelt forgiveness.
I learnt how to shoulder the guilt
of my oppressors and accusers,
for I dared not to complain;
or it would be inked on the cartridge
and the community called to endorse its establishment.
Yes, I have spoken with authority, for I have on occasions
dared and I was made
to smoke the weed of spitefulness.
Undoubtedly, that ugly cancer grew!

There was, however, a part of me
that would no longer be tolerant nor to bend -
not even a sniff of any resemblance of this cancer.
No, it was never etched in stone to be my demise!

So boldly, I seized a hold
of the blade and protested.
This penned the revelation that many
dear kinsmen, trusted companions
and other loved ones alike
were no longer so.
Still, my heart chose not to die -
never wanting to die,
despite the deadly diagnosis
of my cancer-stricken heart.

So, with great courage to live,
I held the cancer by its neck,
then with my feet, I trampled on its head
after thrusting it to the dust.

You see, I got older, stronger,
bolder and wiser.
It was only then that I could
stop that venomous cancer from spreading its roots.
Thus, the cold and uncaring cancer
I smoked no more!