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 Apr 2014 Brad Antonio
Wednesday
I wonder if you’d want to know
I named all of my demons after you and
they haunt me in my sleep

when I was 14 I fell asleep in April and dreamed of bones and
I’m not sure I’ve really ever woken up since

when I lost 5 pounds I never saw a difference

when I lost 10 my mother said I was looking good

when I lost 20 she told me to stop and handed me food
and I became anemic

when I lost 25 I stopped drinking anything because
I felt water had calories

when I lost 30 my mother held me on her lap
and held my bones together for me

when I lost 35 I started fainting every morning and
the doctors could no longer easily find my blood pressure

when I lost 40 people started to stare and food made me cry

when I lost 45 it hurt to walk and to lay down
it hurt to eat
it hurt to breathe and
I started throwing up my empty stomach

the mind plays tricks on those that decide
nourishment is not needed

Eat.
 Apr 2014 Brad Antonio
Legion
When you see her cry
     you get a rag,
a gentle delicate cloth.
                                        Lovingly grasp her hand
                                               and dab its tip;
                                       dry each tear as they come.
                                                           ­                               And ask each drop
                                                            ­                                   why it'd leave
                                                           ­                               such beautiful eyes.

  If she wishes
to be in the sky,
  tell her to go.
                              Take the sun ransom,
                              and replace its shining
                                    with her own.
                                                            ­          So you can see her every morning
                                                         ­                          and wish for her
                                                                ­                  return each night.

When you see her scars
  both visible and non-
    touch each gently.
                                             And remind her
                                       that each and every hurt
                                            she has survived,
                                                       ­                                 has only made her
                                                                ­                   that much more unique;
                                                         ­                              that much stronger.

  Show her that she
  is a special person
and is worthy of love.
                                     That she deserves the love
                                            she fears to give...
                                            show her so that
                                                            ­                     one day after you're gone
                                                            ­                      she can find the strength
                                                                ­                    to go on without you.

    Tell her that while
she might not be a goddess
far above worldly desires,
                                          that she is amazing,
                                         for just being herself
                                    for being that beautiful girl
                                                            ­                   who thinks herself damaged
                                                         ­                         when in truth she's just
                                                            ­                    a different kind of beautiful.

   And finally, love her.
  Like a boy loves a girl
Till she finally remembers
                                            that that's what she is:
                                          not a scar, not a goddess,
                                             not a star. But a girl.
                                                           ­                         That deserves to be loved.
I'm standing behind this sliding glass door.
My family is on the other side.
It's sad really,
to feel like I cant be with them.
It pains me,
to see them being happy,
While I seclude myself inside my room.
Its not my fault really.
I can't control it.
These four walls that surround me,
understand me,
understand my greatest fears.
Have seen me in my worst state.
Yet, they won't judge me at all.
They listen,
they see,
they don't care.
Thats what I really need.
Someone who accepts me for me,
and won't say or judge me for it.
The question that has arisen is:
What and how do we teach our black boys?
What is permissible for them to do in the eyes of the law or of a scared shooter?
Can they walk home from a convenient store?
Can they listen to rap music in the car with their friends?
Can they go to their bachelor party?
Can they whistle at a white woman?
Can they defend themselves?
These are the questions that we don't want to ask but we need to answer because young black men have become moving targets in America
We don't want to beg these questions in the black community because we don't to instill fear in our children but if not what shall we instill in them?
Because respect and toleration has only gotten them shot at
How quickly can a black man reach into his pocket?
Is he allowed to reach for his wallet or his hairbrush or a bag of skittles?
Do we have to teach the young males in our community the proper speed in which to make movement?
Being brown poses a threat in and of itself
And don't tell me that we have freedom
That time has passed and our nation is evolving, that racism doesn't exist
Racism is in the American culture
It is in the puritanical foundation that this country lies upon
It is the basis of the American economy
It is written in our constitution
It is all around us
Racism is so deeply embedded that white people have convinced us of our inferiority so much
That we've grown to hate ourselves
See when the foundation of a nation is racist
People of color grow to hate themselves and one another
Black on black crimes don't even make headlines
It's daily
It's called reversed racism
We know the threat we pose and we know what are fate will be if we don't comply or turn our music down or put our hands up quick enough or walk fast enough or slow enough
Young black men are forced to fear the law
Taught to hide from blue and white
Scared to be African before they can be proud to be an American
Nationality does not matter when the image that our nation is based is blonde hair and blue eyes
The hyphen -American in our ethnic title serves no purpose when we are not treated as such
We are black before we are American
We are black before we are brothers or fathers or uncles or cousins or friends
We are black before we are human beings
And We are thugs before we are able to explain ourselves
Our history and our culture is based on tragedy and oppression
The enlightenment of people of color can not be discussed because the plight of our community is still all too relevant
Young black men must know struggle before they can know success
Have to be informed before they can be children
Have to understand injustice before they know justice
Know What not to do's prior to to do's
Must hear the names Emmet Till, Rodney King, Amadou Diallo, Oscar Grant, Sean Bell, Trayvon Martin and Jordan Davis well before they hear
Barack Obama, Al Sharpton, Colin Powell, George Washington Carver, Harry Belafonte, and Michael Jordan
Warned before they are encouraged
Black before they are human.
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.
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