They named her Patience
Hoping she would put up
With the unflinching burden of hatred
Hoped she would stand through it all
To emerge out into the boundless open
A space with no history
No prejudices

So she took up her pen
Held it so high that it caught the sunlight
She raised her voice
So that it broke through the walls of prejudice
And with threads of intellect wove her thoughts into order
She was Patience
But she did not intend to wait
For a saviour

Why did you take them too far to find?
You took my people and left me behind.
They laughed with you, you ate together
And you sailed them away from me forever.
Strange man, has the sea washed your black away?
Your soul away? Your heart away?
Did it seep into your skin and make the melanin fade?
Is that why you’re so bitter?
Confused and scared, they ride the waves
And reach my ear; the songs of slaves.
Bitter yet soft, it tells their pain,
It shows your smile, but not your shame.
The ocean reeks of my people’s blood.
I know what you’ve done.
But you can’t hold us in your hands for long
We are the people of the sun.

Black power,
All hour,
White supremacist,
My nemesis,

They’ve always said that blacks get no rights,
But segregation has no fight,
Tonight,
There is sight,
I stand with my power,
So I can say Black Power!

She is beautiful
she walks with poise
she speaks with elegance
she sees with eyes full of pain
she listens though she is never heard
her skin is as rich as chocolate
her hair is like wool
her back is scared from the knives in your hands
her feet are cut from the miles she walks
her legs are weak from running to get away from your words
But
she walks with poise
she speaks with elegance
her skin is exquisite
her hair is curly
this woman thats been to the deepest parts of
The Devils Palace
is beautiful
She is "A Work Of Art"

So as fate would have it they would have it they would take us from our borders

They brought us in as slaves so that we could toil for the hoarders

They put chains on our wrists til we rose our fists

No longer would this pain make our children slit their wrists

Times have changed but some things stayed the same

Some walk around unaware that they’re just wearing a different chain

We became the entertainers, we became the “ballers”

While our slavemasters became the businessman, still the shot callers

Just a monkey with a ball, On the rise it seems, but still we fall

What more can we be?

Can our eyes still see?

Cause when I look at my people in the eyes

I see souls that are satisfied

I see souls that have been pacified

Dreams once in the air but now on the ground

Look around my people, see who wears the crown

Cause our people continue to die and no one makes a sound

Can you say their names?

Can you feel the pains?

Can you feel the agony of a hundred thousand black souls lost for America’s gain?

Will you stand and fight?

Cause a Black America United oh what a sight!

Imagine the might! That we would wield?

With a fire in our hearts that could bend steel

Only then could our 200 year old wounds heal

Only then could we appeal and be apart of this nation under God.

My entire life, I've been around the police force.
Mommy, Uncle Tony, and Anita have always been my favorite.
My heroes with the shiny cars and badges.
In my eyes, they are reigning champions of
"good officers still exist" during times like this.

I've never seen a storm last this long,
and I've kept my silence for far too long.
I was stuck.
For all I knew was a good officer until my brothers
and sisters were exploited on tv screens and magazines.
Blood seeping down and staining shirts, eyes wide open,
and bodies lying in the street.

Growing up, all I knew was a good officer.
So my world shook when I noticed the bad ones, too.
They make it hard for me to defend what I've always
known to protect me. At some point, the bad ones,
we must ****. And with a corrupt justice system
that dismisses the actions that we see, it gets tough...
For both you and me.
"STOP ******* KILLING US," we scream.
But no matter how many octaves we reach,
they still aren't listening. And we are left to wonder,
"Who's next: you or me?"

We make posters with blank spaces,
prepared for another one fallen.
But it's apparent that they refuse to see
that our people are hurting; and that
the chains they put on us not that many years ago
are still bound to us as if they are the latest accessory.

I didn't celebrate the fourth this year.
My people are dying, and here I am breathing
and hoping that anyone near and dear isn't affected by this mockery.
"Black on black crime is a real thing." No denying that statement
but why say that first knowing that some of the ones
we are told to trust don't want to see you free?
Do you understand that any black man could be next?
Even though I'm a woman, ****, it could be me.
My *****, are you listening? Did you get word?
Homie said, "Set your clock back 300 years!"
How about that for a rude awakening?

Quit telling my people that this **** here is an illusion.
You wanna be "a *****" so badly?
Cool, my *****, this is our reality.
We out here dying every day, b.
Pictures of dead bodies and videos of the crime scene,
mothers and children crying.

I never know what to expect.
I'm just praying I don't get a call saying (insert name here)
died at (insert time here) for their melanin radiating
and minding their business.
#JusticeFor___: Trayvon, Sandra, Kathryn, Sean, Eric,
Rekia, Amadou, Mike, Kimani, Kenneth, Travares,
Tamir, Aiyana, Freddie.
Alton and Philando with six shots to the chest.
****, y'all know what's next and I'm so ******* tired.
I will say their names unapologetically
because my heart can't take
my people's hearts tearing at the seams
from the mutual pain we are experiencing.

Black kings, I will pray for you.
Black families, stay whole.
Black children, alive and unborn, I love you.
Apparently: a wallet, sleeping, Skittles, a cellphone,
loud music, cigarettes, cigarillos, shopping at Wal-Mart,
toy guns, failure to signal, CDs, and reaching
for your license and registration can get you all ****** up.

I've never seen a storm last this long.
I've never seen the good officers be seen as the criminal.
I've never seen a people so desperate and anxious
for light at the end of a tunnel...
Until the bad cops thought it was okay
to play illegally and get away.
*7716

Talent, we still have it,
Our generation,
Needs to step up,
Touch and grab it,
We aren't what we make it seem,
We're more than this,
Touch and grab a talent,
You gotta Sound it,
Ready... Set... Do go,
And leave that house,
Go get grounded,
Make it on your own,
Make a living,
Make a world,
For yourself,
You gotta touch and grab your talent,
They have lived,
They have seen,
Now it's our turn,
To touch and grab,
Make it gleam,
Show the pride,
I'm black and I'm proud,
And I'm not gone hide,
That ebonics from the motherland,
Which is cool,
But I can talk like me and talk like you,
From the bottom straight to the top,
Ima touch and grab this talent,
Show you up,
Head start,
That's fine,
But it's my turn to shine,
Blacker the berry the sweeter the juice,
Pac said it,
Mama always had my back,
But now she dead,
Lost but now I'm found in the name,
Speak the tongue of my God,
Spread the word,
Hallelujah,
I made it out,
I'm way to happy to stay on mute,
I'm black and I'm proud,
And I made it out,
I gotta shout,
The world,
I see its end,
Finished,
Soon come,
Straight in this narrow path,
Touch and grab a talent,
Make it out,
Don't stay where you are,
Make it out,
I'm here to tell that it's more to this,
This life is a game,
I have the manual to this,
It's all in the B-I-B-L-E,
Soon banded,
They know the truth and branded it,
Sacrilegious,
And they have their God,
But I have mine too,
To the Man upstairs,
I'm sorry for all I've done,
Please save us too,
Take me home with you,
But to my people,
Stay black and stay proud,
Touch your talent,
Grab your talent,
Let's take over the world !
I'm out ...

“Decolonize your mind before you become a new black slave.” He whispered to me before pushing one of his dreads behind his ear and grinning wildly at my perplexed expression. I lowered the straightener and stared at him for a while – I had loved him because of the way he was self-assured, it never faltered and I knew an explanation would follow as I leaned forward, raising an eyebrow, questioning him.
“You know you’re a queen right?” He continued, interrupting my train of thought, while turning off the straightener at the plug point.
“Ja, I know.” I answered blatantly.  
“ Then decolonize your mind.” He shouted before thrusting his hands into the sky and exiting my room. I think he knew I would figure it out for myself because as I stared at the straightener on my desk- it clicked. The statement vibrated in the very depths of my soul and an untapped reserve of energy was suddenly channelled into my aura. I could feel my ancestors, I could hear their cries, I could feel the weight of shackles, I could feel a whip, I could feel resentment, I could feel hatred, I could feel the power of a God who didn’t look like me, I could feel my peoples names that were written out of history books, I could taste blood in my mouth, I could feel blood on the cotton, I could feel what it meant to be black.
It was an epiphany, induced both by drink as well as the stench of my burnt hair. The epiphany spoke to me, reminding me that who I am was holy. That black was undeniably beautiful and not in the clichéd way that I learnt of in history when people averted their eyes, avoiding discomfort presented in an unacknowledged truth. It was in earnest, that I realised that my melanin was paramount to a glorious dynasty that I was privileged enough to be a part of. I would wear my ancestry daily and no longer shy away from the truth of my being. I am sun kissed, I am regal, I am Cleopatra, I am King Shaka, I am the soil and the trees and everything that matters in this universe, I am a closed fist lifted in a rally where mercy has intersected rage, resulting in non-violence.
The only violence that is accepted is that which vehemently opposes the status quo that my people are not good enough. That is what was meant when he told me to decolonize my mind.
“ You will be villianized in your pursuit for emancipation because the margin of melanin present in our people will always render you a slave so choose now what you will subscribe to. “ and I made a decision, standing upon the raw backs of my ancestors- I chose a discarded truth and the truth is this-  I am art. We, are art and art cannot be subjugated or castrated by a close minded agenda, set by people who have never bothered to understand you nor will they ever begin to.
I am  a poem that breathes and speaks and therefor has no choice but to be remembered. I will be etched into the minds of people who would rather forget me. I will be written down in history books next to men who would rather deny my existence.
In that moment, in my epiphany, I began to wade barefoot through my soul. I began to find pieces of myself I didn’t know where lost – and is that not courage in itself? Finding the corpse of your soul, buried beneath a cruel, mercilessly pale agenda?
          
Is speaking the truth not brave?
So I set down the straightener, and began to live.

The Melanin in our Skin
The Plumpness of our Lips
The Honey of our Eyes
The Span of our Hips
The Shine in our Smiles
The Power in our gentle Minds
The Care in our Hands
The Love in our Hearts
Makes Us Queens