Generational Soul Food

i was always told i was gifted.

not with hammers or making things straight —

you’d have a better chance at teaching a baby how to parallel park.

but words?

yeah, that’s where the current runs clean.

it’s not just language — it’s consciousness running behind it,

something ancient moving through my lungs,

something that ain’t just mine.

see, i’ve always believed in generational trauma —

how pain doesn’t  die, it just changes houses.

it hides in silence, in pride, in the way we love halfway

’cause we never saw what whole looked like.

it’s the ghost that eats with the family,

passing stories down like recipes,

just with a pinch of guilt instead of salt.

but i also believe in the opposite —

that every wound has a mirror side called nourishment.

the same way trauma passes down,

so can healing.

so can remembrance.

so can soul food.

bob marley said his music would live forever,

and you can see it —

not in streams or plaques,

but in the eyes of his sons,

carrying the same flame,

the same voice that preached love through struggle.

that’s what real inheritance looks like —

not money, but memory.

not land, but frequency.

i took it upon myself to be that bridge.

the one who eats the poison so my bloodline never tastes it again.

the one who plants wisdom where silence used to grow.

the one who turns pain into power,

so the next generation don’t have to pray with scars in their mouths.

this is what i call generational soul food —

not what fills your stomach,

but what feeds your spirit.

the kind of meal that makes your children walk lighter,

laugh louder,

and remember who they are before the world tells them otherwise.

so yeah, maybe i am gifted.

’cause i’m building what my ancestors never could —

peace that lasts longer than pain

- Mr. Mak