the year of lyrics: a poetry project

my search for inner-peace, one poem at a time

Day 365 – Southern Hospitality

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The Deep South tastes like
boiled crawfish seasoned in Old Bay
after a bite, lips are tingling with
spicy, yet salty wounds.
Pulled pork drenched in
tangy, thick barbeque
slopped onto warm buns
with coleslaw.

The Deep South reminds me of
layers of heavy air,
cascading through my lungs
like a lush waterfall.
It yanks at my heartstrings,
offering freshly cut grass,
smooth wooden porches,
and Mason jars of iced tea.

The Deep South is home,
though some would think otherwise,
for it is nothing like the paint on my skin.
I do not echo the Country sounds
as often as I once did
But that does not matter.
The Deep South was and is
family; like a secret
in my heart it will remain.


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