Sometimes its a shame to be black
We claim we're in it together
But the unity we lack

We belittle each other
Even though we all came
From the same father

Our ancestors fought to bring us to where are now
But how we choose to separate each other is foul

Light skins and dark skins
Doesn't matter we still have black skin
We need to begin
To listen

Build our race
So that every black person is safe
Racism is still real
And I cannot begin to explain how I feel

The black race is still frowned upon
Because our values are lost and gone

Let us begin to better each other
Build each other
Help one another
To get farther

Teamwork is essential
We have to realise our potential

It is a shame
How we let each other suffer
It breaks my heart
To see hungry child lost by a mother
When we have rich people
Who are greedy
In their fast cars speeding
Having no conscience or feelings
Because they won't even give to the needy
Lord Jesus I'm screaming
Please change the world
Make everyone start believing
That africa can rise
If we stop ignoring the cries
Of the poor
Revitalise the land
Before it dies
I know we can
If we keep our eyes on the prize

We can build africa
Make africa a staple
If only we work together
Bring something bigger to the table

We were blessed to be born on this beautiful land
So let us join hands
And make africa
As big as we can

I wanted my life to be a poem.
That's what all of this is.
I date you
Because you fit into poetry
The way dark things do.
And you make me happy
But the truth is
I'd love you if you were only
A sad poem.

Cigarettes capture
My attention
Because they're poetic.
Poets smoke.
A cigarette fits in poems
Like writers pen in palm.

I listen to music
For the lyrics
Which speak to me
In the way I like
To speak.
For the drums
That now only mean you.
For the guitar
In the closet
I take out
On occasion.
For the rhythm
That makes my pen dance
When it would rather sleep.

I have the poem in my head
And I guess I'm writing it.
But you're writing it too.
So is she.
And him.
Mostly me.
But the cigarettes
Write too.
Disappearing through
Your lips--
Ash appearing on the page.

What if sound was robbed,
Held at gunpoint
And smuggled away
From me
Into a duffel of contraband.

What if songs became nothing?
What would I
Do? As the bus
Bounces up and down,
When the sun hasn't
Yet stolen it's kiss.
The window yields
Bland scene
And I would recognize
The silence
In the detestful
Way I do
When I forget the wires.

What if his voice
Was gone?
Could I remember it?
Could I fill in sound as his
Lips moved,
God
All I'd ever see
Would be lips.
And I don't like mouths as it is.
But maybe
They'd be my new wires
And my eyes would follow
Their parted
Movements, enamored.

What if instructions were silenced
And I was left to guess at
What to do?
Emergency situation
Stealing my life away
Because I couldn't hear
Anything about
The oxygen supply
Above my head.

I'd perish in silence.

Would I speak?
Or only write?
Would I feel heard
If I could barely fathom listening?

There was a time
when we had the most innocently
beautiful romance.
It was something you'd see in the movies -
but none of this "Fault in Our Stars" ****,
but like... "The Notebook."
Which is still ****,
but it's the best comparison I can think of.

You came to me in the month of November,
and we were instantly taken with each other.
You said, in your amazingly adorable German accent,
"I'll only be here for a year,"
And I pushed that to the back of my head to save until
later,
So perhaps it didn't seem as if we were counting
precious moments
in between easy conversation.

December came,
and snow fell with it,
as we continued to mirror the delicate
flakes descending on our noses
as we sled down neighborhood hills,
and you told me stories of your grandparent's house,
how knitting with your grandma was still a work in progress,
and the sock you attempted to make
looked more like a potato sack.
But this interaction,
you behind me,
I hugging onto your legs,
was the closest interaction I'd had
for the longest time.

That night,
I slept with you,
in the most innocent use of the phrase.
And when I woke, there you were,
gently stroking the small of my back,
smiling sleepily.
I wanted to wake up like this every time.

People would see us walking downtown together in spring,
and would sense our vibrancy,
and smile as we were lost in our own world.
We never spoke of being a "couple,"
and we never held hands or anything like that,
we just had a beautiful relationship.
And for once in my life,
even to this day,
I search for a man who was as respectable as you.

You left on an afternoon of June,
and told me you never kissed me because
"Loving you and leaving you are two things I cannot bear."
You returned two summers later.
And left again in late August.
Maybe one day you will stay.