My mom let a demon in, cracks in the door,
New husband, old scars, we can’t ignore.
Crack pipe dreams, steal the food stamps,
Welfare checks gone, he left in a trance.

Brothers crying, shadows on the wall,
I’m out there hustling, catch me if I fall.
Delivering drugs at dawn, missin’ the first period bell,
Football dreams crushed, a scholarship fell.

Real dad’s absent, love’s just a lie,
Knows our pain, leaves us high and dry.
Mama’s blind, love turned into chains,
Stepdad’s sneaky fists, filling mom and my little brothers with pain.

At seventeen, I grab the piece,
Walk to their room, time for release.
Mama’s tears, pleading with her eyes, “Son, please don’t,” were her desperate cries.

Pack my bags, leave it all behind,
Seekin’ faith, some peace to find.
Ain’t a perfect dude, but I need hope,
Ya Allaah guide me, please help me cope.

Gone from home, streets become my guide,
Prayin’ hard, won’t let this slide.
Life’s a struggle, pain so real,
Still I stand, refuse to kneel.

For my brothers, for my soul,
Climbin’ out this endless hole.
Step by step, findin’ my way,
One last prayer, every single day.

Brandon’s pushed to the edge, can’t see the light,
Praying to Allaah , in the dead of night.
Broken dreams, hope left behind,
In a world so cold, getting drunk to ease my mind.

Mama, I forgive, but I won’t forget,
Path’s been hard, but I ain’t done yet.
From the shadows, I rise and see,
Strength within, Alhamdullilah I’m finally free.

Born in the South, under that Carolina sky,
Josephine Robinson , a strong black woman with pride.
Eighth grade education, couldn’t hold her back,
Racism of the south tried to stop her, but she stayed on track.
To Philly she migrated, dreams in her eyes,
Two kids by her side, she was destined to rise.
Two Turner Street homes, bought with blood, sweat, and tears,
Through the struggles and the pain, she conquered her fears.

Two houses on Turner Street bought from her grind,
With her hard-earned dollars, she redefined.
A matriarch standing, through thick and thin,
When my dad fell short, she did her best to step in.
Showered us with care, love beyond measure,
Grandma Josephine, a timeless treasure.
Her fried chicken thighs, crisp and divine,
Sweet potato pies, yeah they taste so fine.

She showed me strength, resilience, and grace,
In her warm embrace, I found my place.
Through every hardship, she stood tall,
Josephine Robinson, my hero through it all.

Black woman from the South, legacy so deep,
Her memory in my heart, forever I’ll keep.
Fried chicken thighs, golden and crisp,
Sweet potato pies, with a loving twist.
Grandkids gathered around, stories to tell,
In her presence, all was well.
Her Southern cooking, a symbol of care,
Grandma Josephine, always there.

Fried chicken thighs, sweet potato pies,
Grandma’s love, never disguised.
Southern cooking, taste of home,
In her kitchen, love was shown.

From the South to Philly, she paved the way,
With love and strength, she did her best to save the day.
Josephine Robinson your legacy lives on,
In every fried chicken thigh, and every sweet potato pie I ate til it was gone.

This poem is dedicated to my Grandma Josephine Robinson 10-03-1922 to 1-08-2014

Written with love by your Grandson Brandon Basheer Umar Pemberton