Travelers

Alright, these boxes ain't gonna move themselves

I come from a lineage of travelers
Men who carried pain in silence
And their dreams in duffel bags
Each mile, a prayer they forgot to say out loud
Men who have mastered packing U-Hauls full of secrets
But never how to unpack a single one
These men, they wear their burdens like boxers
Dressing themselves every morning in false self confidence
Convinced that their act of
Successfully carrying the weight of the world on their back
Is some type of an accomplishment
Men who have confused staying still with staying stagnant
Creating fragments of themselves in the form of babies
Leaving them to be raised alone
By ladies in cities they were too afraid to call home
Because they know the road doesn't come with expectations
Doesn't ask them to be perfect or present
Doesn't require them to pick the phone
I come from a lineage of the Improper Papas
Rolling Stones
In love with fresh air
While their soul travels on four flats
Because they have no love to spare
Men who only feel like a man when in motion
So every apology given is whispered through rear view mirrors
These men, they find fun in the sun
While their illiteracy lies in the stop light
Green means run
Red means go
And yellow, it just doesn't exist
All they know is to treat women like pitstops
Staying long enough to sit
Lay down, take a piss
And split
But not before they get a bite to eat
Black men programmed to stay on code
With so much of their DNA embedded in the pavement and spread along the way
How could they not feel at home in the streets
I come from a lineage of travelers
Men who've collected their father's recycled behavior
Leaving them to literally treat their litter like
Litter
And we, their offspring
Already in pieces
Take ourselves apart in the name of art and call it healing
Revealing wounds deeper than the potholes in our fathers' spirit
We grow to become men who can't figure out
For the life of us why life with us seems to be
Such a bumpy experience
But something special happened the moment my journey
Crossed at the intersection of self love and forgiveness
I learned to find love and appreciation for the lack of my father's grip
For not dragging me along
And leaving me to feel even more like unwanted baggage
But rather, lost luggage
Who knew that burying me under his future mistakes
Would lead me to become a treasure, self discovered
And although I wish he would've held on long enough
To recognize the weight he carried was not a burden but a blessing
I'm thankful for the lesson
So today, I give grief the seat it always wanted
I let my joy drive for once
And my healing ride shotgun
This is for every man who thought being strong
Meant being silent
For every boy taught to survive
But never to feel
We carry a lot
But today, I unload
One word at a time