#racial
A resonant gratitude streams through my veins,
Consecrated to my middle school heroines, deflecting
The whispers of shame.
But they taught me that I do not have the luxury of shame;
I have a voice, and I must amplify it––that’s what my mother said.
Elles m’ont protégée, blossoming my oneness.
I am here now because of them, I harness their divine feminine
Strength.
Standing on the bones of my aunties, their anguish travels up,
Their histories following suit.
Beneath my feet, to my knuckles; charging my inner being
My spine is rigid, fortified with the duty––
To liberate, to reform, and to love.
“But my love,” she tells me earnestly, “this love, has been assumed,
Taken for granted, blended into the background of the White man’s portrait.”
My dun skin lives in the ambiguity of praise and prejudice,
And my sisters are dead. Exploited, first––then dead.
As were my mother’s grandmothers, when the Britons drew the line.
The assembly line, however, was an American invention––
Where the American Dream came to fruition. Commodified neatly,
‘Cheaply’ produced, and easy to swallow: fine [Black*] American craftmanship!
Her tomb
Stone, will be mined by her brothers.
He is unearthing the buried history, but forced to push coal into the fire,
Cremating the legacies of his own kin.
“So what are you going to say at my funeral now that you’ve killed me?”
Her lasts words, found amongst the ashes.
Dec 5, 2023
Dec 5, 2023 at 1:28 PM UTC
There is this pair of sweatpants,
they sit in the bottom left drawer of my dresser.
Sometimes
I like to picture myself wearing them.
That comfortable,
snuggly feeling.
Like a warm hug
from an old friend
you used to crush on.
It's such an out there concept,
- but imagine if it happened.
Me
wearing those sweatpants
from the bottom left drawer of my dresser.
Or that black hoodie
that my mom got me two Christmases ago
the one that she special purchased because so it'd fit just right
Or any stained shirt ever
one that you can wear for comfort at home
because finally no one is watching.
I learned young
to button-up
so that there wouldn't be
as many eyes watching me today
so i can go and buy my favourite candy
from that gas station down the street.
And I always wondered
why some people's sunday best
was my only way to feel normal.
I was about 10
when I learned
that wearing comfortable
might get me stopped
by the police today.
I guess this is what it's like
to be true
north
strong
and free.
Dec 8, 2021
Dec 8, 2021 at 1:28 AM UTC
Pursuit of justice and Gold
Giving it all away
Saying words with purpose
A search for justice
A black man standing on the bus
Righteous indignity
Look at me
Is this what it means to be free
Is this pursuit of happy
Or is this life just ******
Look at me
And what do you see
Do you see a color or do you see a name?
Or just someone to blame
Do you see a man with hope
Or do you see a man struggling to cope
Do you offer a hand or hang a rope
Can you love someone like me
Or can that never be
Look as far as the eye can see
People living in misery
Why is change so slow
Where did decency go
Swim against the flow
Sometimes it’s hard to let go
Which way the wind will blow
On this journey I will go
It’s keep playing or fold
It’s everyone wanting some gold
It’s about white power so old
It’s about the power you hold
Old white and grey hair
Controlling markets everywhere
You don’t want to share
You don’t care
This is not fair
I’m a man, same as you
I have hopes and dreams too
I’m the same as you
Nov 10, 2020
Nov 10, 2020 at 12:21 AM UTC
I do not know how
they have aged so well
having to carry such
obnoxious facades
outlining the garments
of their sleeves
every night, wondering
if it's too small or too large
succumbing
to the thought of misfits,
with the color they have
grown weary of
dark times
that made them feeble;
enough to make them grow
lips that sparks war
telos or end;
to finally defend that
black cats are not bad omens
and so are black people
Oct 16, 2020
Oct 16, 2020 at 10:42 AM UTC
What is Justice
What is justice
Does it have a color,
does it have a temperature
The blacker the shooter the louder the news
The tighter the noose
Equality seems to download slower
for those it doesn’t favor
Section 8 flats raise ghetto minded soldiers
Trained to live in prison cells
While leaving empty sits in classrooms
Mothers raising fathers
because their fathers left them,
now live in prisons,
physically, emotionally & mentally
That means when they have their kids they will probably leave them
What Is Justice
Generational curses bless the defenseless
Praising violence because slave masters
Programmed them to hate knowledge
Think less and work more labour after labour
While slave masters stole roots away from their family trees,
then told them to go figure out their identities,
Black Kings and Queens demoralized and carried in shackles, to rebel they now wear more ice than a cold fridge,
painted in movies as villains but have more knowledge than those that run universities, but stuck behind the walls of justice fighting all kinds of adversities,
like starting a race with no legs to run with,
stuck in one place, asking themselves what is justice
What is Justice
Is justice a word we chase in a world imprisoned by the thought of equality?
it doesn’t work if it doesn’t end in a tragedy, wearing hoodies, selling cigarettes, simply driving, could determine the end of you, living everyday under pressure like living through an interview, or facing the end of a loaded barrow,
Yelling please don’t shoot, while the one holding the gun comes to take your tomorrow, these black tears have cried till they have ran dry, social justice tried and still couldn’t change justice
now we challenge the notion of which life matters more, black or blue
This world got no clue
acting like history never took place, in a race of race, forgetting those who sacrificed for us to win the global race
how much more should the dark skinned give to get an ounce of freedom
What is justice
Is justice a word or a curse to the darker skinned, is justice determined based on one’s pigmentations, causing deeply rooted segregation, “all man are created equal” but we forgot about the sequel, in the end it tells us that we are not equal...
So... What is justice?
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 12:26 PM UTC
Another Tinder match
supposed we hike to bromo mountain
If not to suffer me
neighbor country guy
Where jaded is the least people be
lives in a bunkbed dorm room
For months and months
Certified to put judgement
on strangers
He studies everyone
But locals
Talks in languages
but local's
He's interested in story of stragers
But not my story
Too local maybe
One lunch in a local's
I lend him lunch money
He never thinks he owes me
A thing
He sits there on the corner
Reading people's story
Those whose land made
By foreign spices, coal, and sweats
Like me
May 24, 2020
May 24, 2020 at 2:11 PM UTC
I am the product of two distant worlds
But my tongue dances with only one
In my dreams, I hear my Mother’s cries
Praying for her lost daughter’s return
I am too much for one country to swallow
But not enough for the other’s acceptance
Yet here I stand, with my heart in the middle
Of a custody battle with unclear intentions
I cannot choose between the two
Without erasing half of my story
I cannot undo all this writing
Stained on my blood and bones
This heart, of plantains and sweet tea,
Fights a war inside her own body
I’m unsure of where to call home
When I’m not wanted by either country
Dec 2, 2019
Dec 2, 2019 at 9:31 AM UTC
Crack the whip again, make me see the cultural defeat.
And as I breathe help me understand. Why, within my shaking hands.
I can feel the relapse of my bated breath, at this point I don’t know what’s left.
My screams are nothing. Even as my blood within the soil says something.
It teaches a powerful lesson. That even as centuries progress slavery is still a weapon.
The pain I feel never delays, doesn’t even fade away. Because as I retie my shirt, it’s still stained within my hurt. They look at me indifferent. Not because of me limping. My melanated skin. Is what determines my fate, even without my own sin. I was born into a loving family. My only regret is them not informing me of my reality. I can see the difference now, between me and you. Even 200 years later, you have a judgment free path to choose. I used to view my skin as a scar. Separating me from who I really want to be. But once I saw my little girls killed in my own car. It changed my knowledge of who you really are. You are missing a chunk of empathy. Something that’s lost to me. How a person so alike me but so different can commit an act so belligerent. I once wanted to be you. Now that’s a thought I can’t even begin to chew. That’s when I was reminded that we are different. Please listen, I try to cringe on the sour taste of liking you. I was stuck to the binding of it like glue. Now I realize what I was doing. I seemed to be willingly choosing to invite the devil into my home. No More!!!
Loving you was a exhausted chore. One I kept repeating, only thinking your heart would start beating.
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 4:36 PM UTC
Midnight!
Midnight!
Midnight!
The burning sensation of those word were hard to digest
Sorrow, Tear, How ugly can I be
Black is Beauty I say…to whom they say
Midnight! Midnight!.. you are as dark as Midnight
I'm haunted by those words, As they stuck to me like fresh sap from a tree..
I’m drowning, I’m drowning, I can’t get free, those words will forever trail me..
They trailed me; they jarred me, Blackie Tutu! Blackie Tutu!
How can kids be so cruel using skin color as a tool
I held my own and stayed cool for I knew has long I was in this school my fate was doom.
Pickey-Pickey head! was the melody of the song
I listened allowing the word to sink into my soul
The beat made me sick and I knew this one would also stick
I Looked up to the sky wondering why
No! No! No! Woman don’t cry
Be an African and hold your pride…
Hands by my side, I held my head up high
I found the fight within me, Stone faced Killer bee
I faced the music and it set me free
On the attack I had them flee…using word to conquer thee
I carried on knowing freedom wasn’t free and then
Like bolt of lightning it occurred me
To defeat them I had to BELIEVE in ME
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 8:16 AM UTC
He approaches, from a completely different background.
He sees an odd, irregular image
Minding its own business.
He approaches and the image moves.
The irregular image faces him as he admires it.
It is smothered in beauty,
So much, but he doesn't understand it.
She, the image, sees him too.
She falls in love with his body's outline,
But when he steps into the light,
She doesn't understand her love anymore.
Mutual love was clouded by race.
Eventually, they learned to love their differences.
They created art through their differences;
Contrasting colours thrived in their newly ordained similarities - obtained through love.
Multi-racial relationships are the artwork of humankind.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 3:59 AM UTC
How do you make your rice?
is it in a *** a pan? steamed? heated? not at all?
mine is in a frying ***
Yellow, with pollo from the fresh market.
Peas, y frijoles on the side.
Mix it up, eat it, keep it for later.
Burn the bottom so you can get la chemada part.
If you like the chemada part, not everyone does.
Oct 16, 2018
Oct 16, 2018 at 12:25 PM UTC
Oh, you seed of mankind.
You who reside in the same Coloured white *****
You carry the sex-determining chromosome.
Before union with female egg, human colour was same.
After fertilization, emerged different coloured humans.
Oh melanin, you who determine our skin colour.
You went as far as differentiating our hair colour.
What have you done?
Are you to blame for racial discrimination?
Maybe blame theory of evolution.
Oh no I blame you mankind.
God gave men brains of a kind.
The kind, that knows wrong from right.
In the image of God, mankind was created.
Colour was not restricted.
I urge mankind across all racial groups.
A plead to all *** groups.
There’s more to what you see in the mirror.
It was microscopically a seed within white *****
We might differ racially, men and women.
We came from same coloured seed.
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 5:17 PM UTC
In this place we call home I swear none of us have the right morals to look up to and we’re all on social media wishing for acceptance in the for of likes and followers and views and friends on snapchat. In this place we call home were banning people from their dreams and are taken away from their families and are laughed at because of their color on the outside and not by the inside on the space of their hearts and is separated by who they pray to and how they celebrate their life. In this place we call home, we all have messed up minds.
Oct 8, 2017
Oct 8, 2017 at 12:04 AM UTC
My burden is too heavy to carry
People of my race are dying
One can't walk on the side of the road
without having a bullet pierce
through their melanin bodies
Chocolate,
Caramel,
or brown sugar
I can't accept the violence
SUPPRESS THIS ISSUE !
I demand sacrifice to the wrong guidance
'Cause I can't sit and cry with a tissue
preparing a eulogy
for my blood brother and sister
who've been shot by the minority
I step foot on this ground
and declare an apology
Slave me not
for I am a human
THAT IS BLACK
Can't you see the protests ?
This is not a contest
What happened to the freedom knot ?
Equality and diversity?
- I can't accept the current adversity
Rights and responsibilities?
- But black beings are bein exposed
to vulnerability
Rules and regulations?
- I thought we had amalgamation
World War III ?
No ...
I want us to be free
Jun 5, 2017
Jun 5, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC
I Painted Myself Black..
He felt awkward and embarrassed
Hesitant to talk or smile, may be stressed?
O he is dark as hell! people would say,
But he never had them much attention to pay.
He hid behind trees and watched us play,
He might have wished to be on the ground some way.
I gazed at him and smiled with delight,
But with fright, he turned away the sight.
So next day I painted myself black,
The beautiful color we people lack!
He stared at me for a while and then laughed
O what a innocence, I too laughed..
I approached him and pulled him on the ground,
Freeing him from the racial rope he was bound.
I saw him confident, and we played for very long,
Feeling happy and singing that song...
I painted myself black... I painted myself black..
O his happiness was the reason, I painted myself black...
Dec 7, 2016
Dec 7, 2016 at 6:04 AM UTC
This is the tale of the
Kid’s doll, the wallygog.
A doll meant to look like
A pale pitiful human hog
With a clammy white body
With wimpy yellow hair
And blue button eyes,
And cotton belly to spare.
It is so unattractive that
It must be that this toy
Is meant to insult them,
White girls and boys,
So that playing with it
Puts them in their place
As objects of ridicule
Laughs in the white face.
Because look how sad,
With wan sewn-open lips
And imitation Gap clothes
Sewn to shoulder and hip.
How foolish and rude
Is this toy made by fools.
Who can truly ignore
What is meant by this tool?
Yet is so popular now
The silly Wallygog today;
Some children refuse
As they grow, to set it away.
They carry it around
And it leaves me agog
That they never understand
What it means, this Wallygog.
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 3:40 PM UTC
dear young black girls,
i'm sorry that you cannot turn on the TV and see black female role models.
i'm so sorry that you are constantly being shamed for your natural features.
sorry that you're constantly under the pressure to comply with eurocentric beauty standards.
your skin color is a blessing.
your hair is beautiful.
do not change anything about yourself for the sake of the way society views you.
dear young black boys,
i'm sorry that your constantly seen as a threat to those around you.
i'm so sorry that you cannot gather in in a group with all of your peers without the fear that you're going to be accused of doing wrong.
sorry that society will someday see you as a "deadbeat dad" and someone who won't be able to provide for himself, much less his family.
your skin color is beautiful.
ignore everyone, keep up the good work, you will be successful.
you bleed the same color as every other human being on this planet and i am so sorry that has not yet been recognized after how many years?
irrelevant.
you are loved, you are wonderful, you are talented, you are unique.
follow your dreams.
be ambitious.
fight for your beliefs.
stand your ground.
justice will be served.
change will come.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 1:43 AM UTC
I almost made it to the finish line
but somewhere along I took a wrong turn
segregation’s aftermath still lingering
self inflicted prejudice over one’s skin abstained
self antagonism over one’s curl pattern deeply rooted
self oppugnancy over one’s own race persistent
I know I’m not on the right course
yet blindly I continue
shackling the dependent to me
as i spiral down this cascade
too intimidated to speak out
too worried about social acceptance
too cowardly to admit it
taught that color coding is inferior
but favoritism to a specific color is acceptable
I see police brutality to a specific race
whereas other countries see
Americans killing other Americans
Republicans and Democrats both preach unity
Yet stand divided in one house
but I’m in constant denial
because I was raised as a hypocrite
I want change
but only half of me is willing to fish for that change
it wasn't always the way
minorities didn’t have a voice
so they fought for one
generations later they hoard that voice
locked in a shed
collecting dust
My people have the tools
therefore
don't be fooled
because it’s only a matter of time
before they put them to use
and mold a beautiful sculpture
Mar 27, 2016
Mar 27, 2016 at 12:35 PM UTC
Skin I choose to live in
Skin I lose when living
Skin we love we feel
Skin we hate we ****
Skin some old some young
Skin some sold some hung
Skin the largest ***** on our body
Skin the largest reason we're divided
Skin a pigment of our imagination
Skin a figment of our imagination
Skin your skin my skin feels the same
Skin my skin your skin tales of shame
Skin in it we mourn we cry
Skin in it we born we die
Skin that shields my soul
Skin that takes control
Skin we must look beyond
Skin just a phenomenon
Skin your skin my skin bruce alike
Skin your skin my skin same at night
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 10:32 PM UTC
Black girl roots.
Black girl magic, stemming from their black girl roots.
From their magical skin, full lips and hips, beautiful roots of their hair
Is the genetic anatomy of a black female that incomprehensible?
Full lips on display lined with collagen filled comments,
the peanut gallery of social media filled with distasteful outrage by the same things they inject to achieve yet,
riots on social media streets over the distasteful cultural misappropriation of all that is black yet,
It's distasteful to live somewhere, to live here, beautiful islands bathed in sun and filled with black people that aren't even conscious of their background...that aren't conscious of their 'blackness'.
To be so ashamed of their blackness. Their very roots.
Ashamed of their roots. What a time to be ignorant Trevor.
Black History Month is now, yet there’s a rampage to eradicate the very aesthetics of blackness rather than appreciate them.
Dear colonialized principal of C.R. Walker High School, quit.
Dr. Claudius Roland Walker, the school’s namesake, built a hotel for blacks who were being discriminated against and
I imagine he would build a coffin for your revulsion of all things black,
We’ve moved past your self-hate and the disdain you have for your very roots.
Black hair is beautiful and can never be unkempt. Let me say that again.
Black hair is beautiful and can never be unkempt.
Black hair is a statement that you and nobody that inhabits
this dying planet has the authority to deem untidy or inappropriate.
It took our ancestors far too long to comb through fields of complications
the root being wearing their natural hair and through natural hair movements
to have some nescient minded leader deem it disheveled.
Our roots have permitted our black skin magic, we absorb the rays of the sun,
magicians, and for my final trick, watch my skin glow like gold
dripping like wet paint onto a canvas of unfinished art
left behind by our old souls.
Oh my black people,
a juxtaposition of media sensationalism led by governmental lies, descendents of slave owners insisting that our black hair is something to be ashamed of,
it seems we have our heads so far up our own *****
we're getting too used to the essence of sh-t.
Then the chant goes up, the battle cry,
"This isn't the United States, there's no misogyny, there's no racism, there's no-"
Shut-up.
"Are you angry?"
No, I'm black and I'm angry!
Our mindsets rooted in the prevalence of self hatred, leaves of mighty oaks desperate to remove themselves from their very roots,
requesting emancipation from the very ones that have us enslaved,
begging to be cut loose from the European hand
consciously and subconsciously unshackling the left as we tie the right.
but where are you going?
When has a plant ever survived without its roots?
How dare we neglect the nutrients our ancestors left behind and chase the suicidal pesticide made to eradicate our total being?
Dear god if you're listening, as the cry of former sages went up I also cry,
emancipate yourselves from mental slavery and take me back to my golden home,
where I belong.
Take me back to the very roots I am taught to be ashamed of,
so that I may feel the energy of what once was.
Take me back so that I may cultivate my roots. Take me back so that I may live to tell the truth.
Just take me back.
My people deserve the truth as I find them in the lie,
smearing the proverbial “creamy crack” on hair and skin,
My people deserve more than a painted picture of Cesare Borgia Son Of Alexander Pope 6 as Jesus.
My people deserve to know that Jesus was black and that the Catholics were snakes in the grass abusing their power during their time of reign. Uh oh, the snaps got quiet.
Oh but my people deserve to know that perceived infallible Bible they see today has been edited and destroyed to hide the secrets. Why?
When mama and grammy worship pictures of “Jesus”, why wouldn’t white be right?
Jesus in the pictures mama, he’s a white man, he has straight hair, he’s the savior,
aren’t we supposed to be just like him?
but
Little black girl with your, black girl magic and your,
magical skin, full lips and hips, beautiful roots of your hair
your crown, your skin, is beautiful. Your roots are strong.
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 12:57 PM UTC