All that was fixed floated before
My eyes. Blood ridden rags flew like doves
Of peace outside my window.
Pictures of slaves framed as freedom

Ink in the pen replaced
With blood and  yellow bile.

Mundane concerns stifle
the soul that hungers for the infinite
Practicality subverts the mind
as it questions and wrestles with
this existential enigma...

Bound by the curse of productivity
and the insatiable drive for accumulation
Libidinal, perverse thoughts
drive the working man

to this, to that...

he is a puppet pulled by invisible strings:
the corporate, bureaucratic masters
calling the shots
laughing control freaks...
the world is theirs for the taking
and the worker-slave raises his hands
a sense of triumph
as the crumbs fall down

We live in a Kafkaesque era
merrily languishing
in this willful dementia.

Shackle and chain you presented me
A life of selfless service
Nights and days not my own
But for you and your grace

I live for you, I die for you
Without questioning my own instincts
Days, months and years alike
My only meaning is what you describe

Life is a gift, a treasure to find
You took the only thing I will ever have
Lonely and lost never meant to free
A soul unnoticed in your villainy

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.

Let me tell y’all something:
The white man don’t care about our suffering.
The privilege is too bright to see us.

The white man don’t care about us.
The white man wants to see us get shot,
The white man wants to see us wither and perish.

But who built America on their backs,
Bare handed, and
Whipped into submission?

We did.

We will take back America.
We will take back our streets,
Paved with the blood and tears of our people.
This is our America.

Not whitewashed and stained red with racism.

This is your America.
Where when we say, “Stop! Don’t shoot!”
You shoot anyways.

This is your America.
Where when we say, “I can’t breathe.“
You continue to suffocate us.

This is your America.
Where when we say, “Help.”
You continue to let us suffer.

This is your America.
Where the president calls us thugs,
And threatens to shoot us and our freedom.

This is not my America.

This is your America.
Where you shoot us for having cell phones.
Where you terrorize our sons and daughters.
Where you **** us for being black.

Who gonna protect us?
Not cops drunk on their own power and superiority.
Not the president blinded by racism.
Not our white “allies” who stand by and watch us burn.

But if we burn,
You burn with us.

If you **** us,
You die with us.

We tried peace,
We tried awareness,
But we always end up with violence.

We’re scared,
But who can blame us?

You’re killing us with your American Dream,
You’re murdering us with your American Dream,
You’re suffocating us with your American Dream.

This is your America—
Not mine.

We will take back America.
We will take back our freedom
Or we will die trying.
And that is the American Dream.