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I am no longer master of my time
Master of these greynesses of time
What flowers can I weave for Emmett Till

the child whose soul in mine
lies bleeding....

I die alone from pride
I leave to Emmett Till his death
from horror at myself
An excerpt written by Tchikaya U'Tamsi (Congo), which can be found in the African Philosophy Reader (Coetzee & Roux 2003: 725).

This piece reflects on the brutal death of Emmett Till, who passed away at the age of 14, at the hands of white brutality in a time where negritude and negation was still very rife in America.
Azariah Jones May 2016
A illness flowin’ like a breeze
Slippin’ in with ease
The African-American Disease
Where the thought of a white man in a
blue uniform makes every black child
weak at the knees
I mean there ain’t no cure
Every 28 hours another black man
dropping to the floor
And I’m not sure how much more we can endure
Cause we ain’t protected
We rejected
Not accepted but expected
To sit quiet
So they seem surprised
When we violently riot
But yea it’s nothing new
400 year old news
Nothing’s changed
History’s only rearranged
I would ask you how you would feel
if you were me
But you wouldn't truly know unless our
skin tones were exchanged
A black mother with tears in her eyes
Hearing that her unarmed child
was shot five times
Two times for Martin
Three times for Malcolm
We fought with peace
We fought with violence
But got the same outcome
A black father holds back his tears
Hearing that the murderer was
Sentenced 0 years
With a tap on the wrist
And the chargers cleared
A black child’s fear
That their lives could disappear
At the hands of a man
With a gun and bulletproof gear
A messed up system
Diagnosing symptoms
I’m weak at the knees
The African-American Disease
Damaré M Apr 2015
I know I cannot have your sympathy
I just ask you to understand

The truth is
I understand the land
But I'm tired of standing under another man
Only to be perfectly misunderstood purposely

Inside of my ferociousness
It's hurting me
Because I know there's always a start, but never an end
Have you ever fought a continuos fight that you can never win?
You can never understand
You knew beforehand so there's no emergency to you
Don't Exist May 2014
Every since I was born
every since my first christmas
My first birthday
my experience from school
My first love and hate
my life was forever tainted

I look at the mirror to view my skin
the lightest of all brown
I cry in misery and helplessness
I try to scratch the skin out of my bones but it wouldn’t go
I look at my last name and shiver
I look at Santa Claus and wonder
I look at the people around me and I become lost

I dream of them coming
with their ugly wrinkled faces
and their barbaric ways
and ****** the little girls from their innocence
the ones that are my great great grandmothers
laughing and instilling the idea
that they were going to be theirs forever
and till this day they are

I look at T.V to see how they portrayed my sisters
skinny and shaky
poor and sad
but who have stolen from them?
The T.V?
The world inside the T.V?
Or my world?

But  I viewed  the true place of origin
So tropical,fresh, and healthy
civilized and intellectual
dark and beautiful
but this only sadden me more

I feel like throwing up
To regurgitate all my hatred from this wretched place
and when I look for my skin for answers
I simply give up

I’m trap
In this delusional world
Full of people who are lost
who lost their homes
and their skin and life tainted
Till death do us part
A simple poem

— The End —