You’re getting older but your face stays the same-
A gift from those before you, a gift on your very birthday.
The genes you never wore until you grew old enough, big enough, to wear them.
The same genes you put to the back of the closet, so you could dress like Suzy down the street.
The same genes you shaved from your arms as they grew in long, and dark, during your puberty.
The same genes you plucked, tweezed, waxed and cried over when they graced your brow.
These are the genes they left us to wear.
And they did not cross an imagined line just to pick the fruit that we eat, or clean the homes we have made.
But nonetheless, we are the fruit they picked, the fruit they have born.
So while Suzy down the street makes more money to do the job you also do, she will spend her money trying to be you.
Suzy will beg for your genes-
She will pick up needles to plump for your genes.
She will slice, cut and pay for your genes.
Her skincare will boast of fruits we have picked from fields afar, just for your genes.
So my love, my fruit, mi gente, wear your genes proudly.
Make them yours-
With boots or Converse, a striped shirt or blazer-
but my fruit, never forget to wear them when you need them the most. Like reclaimed items from yesterday, they fill Goodwills and vintage stores, a profit for someone else. But you, you have been gifted these genes.
They have been yours since birth, since before your birth, since before you were a thought.
So wear those genes, my fruit, mi gente.