Teaching baby to cook

Wrapped in the sheets, you rap yourself to sleep knowing this is not the first baggage-laden brother with scars from childhood abuse that you will know. You also knwo this will not be the last. He is your lesson. You practice dealin' with, instead of running. You practice protecting yourself.
You read books, perform prayers and meditations, even sit at the feet of elders with hopes of transforming your heart. You write until your fingers are numb. You find that your love for yourself has grown. You love yourself more than you love him. You know that your pain will translate into power onstage. So you write poems. You spit rhymes, You rock mics.

Toni Blackman