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Mia Donaj Jul 2020
trail of tears
paralyzing fears
ripped from the mother's womb
land destined to be taken to the tomb,
****** hands
take take take
stolen land
transgenerational trauma,
passed down,
sweet mama
sour whiskey
takes the edge off of reality
history books won't tell
victims won't be around to tell
emily will never know
leads to the communities depression
we love dream catchers
why can't we love the people who made them?
no reparations
no reservations,be%20transferred%20in%20between%20generations.
I am a broken man
Broken beyond repair
Fallen deep into despair
Torched to ash like a straw man

I am a broken man
Crushed into fine shiny powder
Fragments of a ruined wonder
Now feeling empty like the Morrigan

Tempted to take the Scythe for the Hammer
I chained myself in desperation
A fools decision for a reparation
Death in turn I hunger

For life is a sweet ardor
The bitter sweet taste of reconnaissance
The salt and spice of resilience
'Tis what a broken man yearns with fervor
I found this on one of my unfinished manuscripts
I wish I could finish it  but it is too much to handle
Here is one of the excerpts from one characters banter with another
It is what he said while crying in front of his love the miseries of life, yet he still wanted to feel what it felt like in his earlier times.
I'll leave it open for interpretation
Let me know what you think
Nik Jun 2016
it was like a car accident- falling in love with you.
painful and unintentional.
i want reparations.
ConnectHook Apr 2016
Race-baiting covers for agit-prop agents
splitting white hairs in their dark distress;
with name-calling, bullying, lunch money payments
and shifting the blame for their people’s mess.

Reparations are due for your boring screed
that you scrawled at the helm of the Black Star Liner.
You owe it to those who were forced to read
your obtuse agitations (you Afro-whiner).

Poisonous shout-outs to fallen comrades:
holy Saint Michael in reaper’s hood—
endless blathering racial tirades
poor comrade—your dreams are misunderstood.

You’re obsessed with injustice. That’s nothing new.
You’re a David anointed to overthrow Saul—
(as long as he’s white and less rabid than you,
oh prophet and scribe of the activist call…)

Stay mad at the system. Revile all your foes
with raving, with preaching, with bitter bad words.
Insult all your enemies; list all your woes
as you document stink on your turds.
a poem a day for NaPoWriMo2016
All history is Black history,
wrapped in the shadows of time,
obscured by secret purpose and motive.
The Mother of mankind is as black as night itself,
the rich earth as dark as the space between stars.
History IS Black, and a month barely begins
to scratch its near-inscrutable surface.

— The End —