The issue of race and racial equality seems to be trending
Everyone wants to “take action”
Everyone wants to “help”
But do they really?
Your fellow teachers, professors, priests, neighbors
Everyone seems to be “fed up”
They want it to be put to a standstill
But to me?
They’re playing a game
A fun game
At least to them it’s fun
And here are the rules:
Rule 1: pretend to care
Rule 2: speak on it during public occasions
Rule 3: watch and read the news on each specific topic
Rule 4: go home and sit on your ***** and act like you did something
And if you repeat the steps every time something breaks out
You’ll win
Trust me, it’s simple
And that’s the issue
Letting incidents like this continue and build up
Is hurting not only everyone else around you
But yourself as well
Put yourself in our shoes
Feel how we feel
Not witness, but become the victim
Then maybe, just maybe you’ll understand
Or will you?
Sad to say that things like this will and have not happened to you
Somethings may be similar, but not as bad
Who am I talking to?
You know exactly who..white folks
Yeah, I said it
Don’t act so surprised
You all won’t understand what we go thru
Because it hasn’t happened to you
And don’t say that it has
No matter how hard you’ll try to understand
It just won’t happen
So stop, stop with the pity parties and sob stories
So, if you want to help the situation listen to me
Stop playing this thing called, “The Race Game”
The game is not fun
The game is not entertaining
It’s ignorant
Disgusting
Sickening
So go ahead, play if you want
And see how far it gets ya.

Sit up straight
And listen up,
Because this is not a drill and
I am only going to say this once:
I am not ebony -
A piece of decorative wood.
Nor am I chocolate-
Ready to melt into myself with the heat of your touch.
I’m not you’re “sista” –
We are not related.
And I’m definitely not your “gurrrrl”.
We never dated.
I will tell you what I am:
You may want to take a deep breath now…
I am a Black woman.
Yes, with a capital ‘B’.
I am a Black woman.
Who is exhausted because
everything I do is silently political.
Whom I choose to dance with in the club
Is political – “is she into white guys, or black?”
The way I answer the question:
“Where are you from…?”
“No, where are you really from?”
Is political – “You look different from me, so I need to put you in a labelled box and **** at you with my mind.”
Like saying I’m from near your ends isn’t a good enough answer.
My accent?
Political – “Why is she so well-spoken? Who adopted you?”
It confuses you, because it doesn’t match my South London skin tone.
The way I choose to style my hair
Is political – I wear weaves because I want to be European and hate myself. I wear afros because I hate Europeans and love myself.
How I pronounce my own surname
Is political – Do I simplify it to spare your blushes when you mispronounce it?
The music I proudly declare to enjoy –
Political.
I must be a secret bloke – like that Serena fella of the telly.
‘Cause no fuckable girl has looks like that.
And my skinny arms?
Well, they never fed me in the orphanage, remember?. I’m obviously malnourished like my family back in the Motherland.
You say: “I don’t see race – we are all one.”
Good for you.
but, I cannot afford to pretend to be colour-blind because
I am a Black woman-
Bottom of the rung.
I am affected and I am exhausted.
I am a Black woman-
But that is not all that I am.
Are you still sitting straight?
Can you hear me in the back?
Because this is not a drill
And this woman is Black.

She never knew that the color of her skin
Could define the type of person she was within

By simply taking a look at her face
You'd probably base her beauty on her race

"Am I Beautiful?" she asked.

*"You are beautiful, for a black girl"

Deep in the woods where the wild things roam

Back in the dark there are things

That happen at night when you'r all safe at home

When young men compete to be kings.

It happens each year when the falls fairs are on

These gatherings out in the dark

Thanksgiving arrives and the boys all move on

From these things that they do for a lark

The gauntlet's thrown down by the challenging swarm

To the winner of last years crusade

His blood doesn't boil, but it sure does get warm

Now that this years challenge is made

It normally starts at the Aylmer Fall Fair

"Josiah, you're not is our class!"

He doesn't fight back he just breathes deep and stares

For to him,  it's a sin for to sass

They show up at night, all dressed up in black

No surprise if you knew how they live

But tonight is the time, for them all to step up

For a Lesson's about to be give

The street was all dark, save a lantern or two

as the riders came out from the trees

These were not the old wagons you saw in the dark

These were ones that would make your heart freeze

Josiah stepped forth from the bustling crowd

Mr. Martin he said...I am here

Now is the time to show just how proud

of the horses you have over there.

I've heard of this race in the darkest of nights

Where the young men come out and are facing

Their fears and their hopes with only two lights

It's the start of Amish Drag Racing

It was something to see these men dressed all the same

Two big clydesdales each made up their team

But to both of these men, this was not just a game

This was the way that they all burned off steam

They didn't dare fight for that was a sin

And team sports didn't get the job done

None of them drank so there was no need for gin

And a barnraising just wasn't fun

Mr. Martin climbed up and he steadied his ride

Young Josiah just stood there and stared

Mr. Martin looked out, he was beaming with pride

Poor Josiah just stood looking scared

The starter came forth and he said to the men

With this hanky I will start the race

I will let it fly loose once I count to ten

And I let it fly free into space.

He counted it down and let go of the rag

And nobody moved from the post

Mr. Martins horse stood as did Josiahs old nag

And they both looked like they'd just  seen a ghost

The hanky was black just like ones they all had

And nobody saw him let go

The race buildup was great but the start was quite bad

In fact some men started to go

So, they tried it again with a different technique

Cause they found nothing there that was white

You can say it was strange but I say unique

To watch Amish men race in the night.

The horses lurched forth like two huge tyco trains

Sweat was poring from off of their backs

You could see from their eys it was really a strain

As their drivers took up the reigns slack

Equally paired, with two horsepower each

They tore up the road like a shot

But a really fast speed they both never would reach

Cause two clydesdales just don't run so hot.

Amish drag racing is really a night

To see if the other would show

For it's really no way to prove who is right

And the attendance is really quite low

So if you get invited and your hear of a race

That takes place where wild things  roam

Say you'd love to attend but you think to save face

You'd prefer not and would rather stay home.
..

People do not want change, they want complacency
They want the comfort that all the tales of old white men were told to them
That peaceful age of nuclear scare, were the white man was his own
And the colored individual knew their place
We do not want equality, we want safety for all our pretty white sheep
We are wolves that are stained with blood, all across our yellow teeth

There's a difference in these woods,
drifting between grey, scabby bark,
sifting into the moist, wormy soil,
beckoning for purpose,
breaking into the sound of a
becoming yet battered nature.

The footprints can be light, thorough --
almost a trait granted by the torture of eternity.
With head-weaves buoyant above tree-leaves,
a hyper-vigilance stemmed from the abuse
of a darkly philosophy weaponized;
an extension of the elbows, forearms, wrists
of huntsmen seeking inferno.

A hollow is an ideal resting place,
beyond the greased veins of trees,
fingertips delving into clustered black,
grasping an illusory livelihood,
only to imprison itself,
hoping for only a thoroughness
granted by the torture of eternity.

When love enters the picture,
it's best to fade into the skyline,
becoming a blue phantom,
hiding behind q-tip clouds,
balanced feebly, anxiously,
unable to realize
how easy you can be seen.
How easy it is to underestimate
your own significance.

You can drag a razor horizontally,
thinking the ink of space
will pour through, staining yourself,
watching yourself disappear,
hoping for only a thoroughness
granted by the torture of eternity.

-

I dance with her, a light caramel mutt,
in a purgatory of racial tension,
between black and white,
living in the grey area of society,
not knowing that it's okay --
and she is like me,
I've just realized.

I'm with everyone I know,
Running in our lifetime's race.
But I just can't shake this feeling
That I'm never going to place.

They all have their hearts set on something
And is it something that I have done,
To cause me to run with aimless footsteps
Simply chasing the horizon?

They're all clutching onto something,
And they put their hope in it.
But for some reason, I never seem
To be able to commit.

One by one they find their goal,
And take off sprinting away.
Leaving me in the dust,
To chase the horizon again today.

And it's not their fault, I know.
They think that I am running too.
I told them I was coming,
But I'm just watching them run through.

Why can't I see their inspiration?
Each time I think I know,
I trip and lose the thought I had.
And I'm far to tired to go.

I'm tired of having no purpose,
Just living an act of treason.
I hope they'll stop for a breath and see,
That I'm a runner without a reason.