SCARS

Zouhair Mussa - West Oakland

Ancient scarification birthed in blood raised skin
If I were to touch the mark of my habobas tribe
Smooth as silk across her face
I would feel the blade that battled to create this beauty

An abandoned ritual representing a complicated history
Buried beneath Nubia
Our habobas were the last generation to own these scars

My momma's momma Is no stranger to loss
Her daughter was murdered by love that never was
And as her spirit left this earth
A wound opened In my grandmother's heart that never healed right

She grew attached to sorrow…
…and her days grew long

The one comfort she found in this land
Was holding me as a baby
8 years later she dead
n she still praying to god that a bullet never looks my way

Her son was kidnapped by the state

She left this world not knowing if he was breathing
or living in an unmarked grave
Imagine a mother
Who lost her children to America
transitioning with the uncertainty of her sons livelihood

Only thing she knew about this god forsaken country
was the cry of this grandchild she held at birth

I don’t know why my foremothers stopped scarring their skin

All I know is my mother’s generation birthed new scars
out the blood of unsettled family trauma

From dead siblings to lost cousins
And one mother who tried her hardest to

…hold me together

That shit I can’t speak on...


..Cause I ain’t got time to be sad

Only to be grateful

Momma always said we ain’t got time to be sad
Only to be grateful

So I learned to be sad on my own time
Learned to lean on the pain as motivation to keep going
If the world sees my vulnerability they gon use it against me

Momma says,

Never acknowledge this hurt enough for it to takeover

The cost of sifting through emotional baggage is far too high

Sadness is a privilege we have long fought for the right to bear
But have yet to earn

My mothers burns keep growing
She tells me they don’t matter
That's just what happens when you walk through fire

You learn to brush aside a lot
for the sake of your sanity

I wish she would learn to ice her pain
Instead of casting it away

But what am I if I relate
Trauma means

I still see my brother in my dreams

But he deceased

Trauma means relentless hard work
And never being able to slow down
to recognize what you’ve been through

We buried struggle in Sudan
To find struggle in West Oakland

My mother and I
Twins
Blessed to experience the trap of stolen youth

From Losing a country to Losing a city
From losin my granny to losing my friends

Momma says
This endless marathon is a gift from god
It’s title: Survival

But the war has yet to stop
The bodies still droppin
Deaths howl still rings in my ears

In the form of Parental Warnings:

Baby boy we been runnin so long we breathe through the cracks in our knees
Can’t you see my arms bleed ?
We can’t stop now
these battle wounds were woven just for you

This War Zone has blessed you
Given you strength
Given you purpose
Thank the heavens
Your scars are still here to see