Dear Black Men,
They have been throwing you away like a trash can.
Never to Understand
That you have value, and for your life God has designed a plan.
So Here I am with you, Side by side I place my hands, in your rough, calloused, laboring hands.
Merging together in solidarity just as a musical band.
As you are Always being placed under Servere Scrutiny
At this moment I stand with you declaring that we start speaking the healing language of unity.
Or This will be The End of Our Community.
Before our Village becomes Extinct
within a moments notice like the eyes that blink.
Removing The hate from our heart and brain that have formed into a kink
like the negative thoughts that we think
Overwhelming the mind drowning only to sink.
They are an Important asset to the family  just as the body needs Zinc.
They're An Esstenial Mineral.
Yet you label them as a Criminal, Cynical, Miserable, Pitiful,
A Creature deemed Unforgivable,
But if you look beyond the attributes of the physical
Take a glace At the mental and spiritual temple.
Resting inside is Gods Love that's Unconditional.
Then is when you will see what I see  Indispensable Individuals; Descendents From Israel.
Does the pigment of thier skin disqualifies him as being equal?
Is this Prince of Egypt's Sequel?
Or maybe its the fact that These Men are  Gods Royal people.

And Still you label them a Negros.
But when thier Tribe looks at them we See A heros.
Trying to lead thier people to the mental state of freedom just Moses did In Exodus from Pharoh.
If only it were that simple
To see inside The temple's window
You would see souls so beautiful.
conscious men awoken to what thier mind and innermen has come to know
Or hearts so rare its special.
And Like A super Moon painted on the black sky thier spirits will glow.

They are kings whom are kind and gracious.
Like a lion's Roar thier Words Are Boldy spoken into the atmosphere and Audacious
Their presences is contagious
Their spirit his courageous.

They are men whos wife and children watch intentively and admire.
They are the household provider.
In their minds he sparks a fire
A flame That Inspires.

He's The The soul that lives within.
Their Maghony skin has been dipped into Hersheys Rich Chocolate Melanin
Thier Deep Voice sounds like A roar from Lions Den , Vigorous and Masculine.
They are powerful like strength and of A thousand men.
Thier smile is as bright as the Radient sun warm and Golden.
From what Cloth was these men woven
that such a men of thier statue has not only been called but also chosen.
Theres something they are Beholding
They are just as a campfire in the blackness of the night glowin.

They are men of color
They are the cover for thier lover
They are My brothers from other mothers.

To The Blackwoman they are our
Batmen, Supermen, Ironmen, Tarzan, Patrolmen, repairmen, handymen, guardsmen, Businessmen and Gentlemen.
And We are your support system, your biggest fans.

You all are The craftmanship of The Most High's hand.
Constructed from the dust of the ground on which we stand.
Mixed with breathe of Life created a human being who bare feet ran,
feeling the warmth from the grains of sand, As he Walked among the surface of the land.
Adam, the Earths first black man.

I Wrote this to let you know we value you My Dear Black Man.

Chocolate is great
It's really neat
But, to be the color, it's bittersweet
This is the experience of a lifetime that Hersheys must undergo
To read, to be told, to hear
That it's almost good enough
Almost pretty enough, almost smart enough
Too reserved and mannered to be this and that
Tears down almost all confidence that Hershey has
It takes away it's natural state
Like a Hershey left in the heat
It takes a while for that Hershey to find beauty again within itself, to find a true acceptance to who it really is, and the discover it's identity
To understand that it won't always make ends meet
But that Hershey will overcome this phase
That made it's life a living maze
The Hershey will wake up
Look in the mirror and see they are somebody
with a cocked up head
will forget what everyone said
and the microaggression that became so macro will soon be irrelevant
That Hershey will see it's real identity to see a girl named Aliah

A good day is when youre singing in the car and your brother shouts every lyric. Its blasting NSINC and pretending that you're justin and he's...one of the other guys. It's reminding him of a time he stole a Hillary Duff CD from your sister because it was his guilty pleasure.

A good day is hearing him laugh again. Its looking into his eyes and not finding the devil. its seeing the ashes of a wildfire and knowing that there are trees still standing, that he is still standing and his legs are done shaking and he may have a few branches missing but he's willing to grow new ones.

A good day is being hit until you name five candy bars. Snickers, Twix, Hersheys, sour patch kids..wait. no. See, its so hard to think when your head is a pack of smarties. Does he remember when he taught you how to crush them and inhale the powder? Your first blunt was the sweetest but he was looking for a different high.

A good day is having him ask about your record player as if he's never seen one before. As if everything is new to him, as if he's missed a whole lifetime. He tells you that its like falling asleep and waking up to a different sky and wondering how long it's been that way. Its staring into a mirror to watch your eyes dilate, its watching them change colors and remembering how they used to be.

He tells you that he wants every day to be a good day. That this time will be different. He tells you that its been 5 days and he's still counting but all you can think of is the last.. day 5; Hearing your mothers phone ring and knowing who it is even though its a blocked number. You think of day 10 and all the sweat he laid shaking in. Day 15, when you saw him for the first time in 3 months and his smile for the first time in years. He tells you about the friends he's made and laughs about the brick wall he hangs out with outside. He says that even though there's a piece of glass between you, he's never felt so free.

You think of day 35 and the three phone calls you missed and you remember picking up the 4th one. When he told you that he was sorry. That he tried but couldn't reach you. He tells you that he went for plan B, he tells you that he found an old friend that always picks up and how he forgot why they stopped talking in the first place.

You tell him that youre sorry. You tell him that your head was stuck in smarties and you've been hoarding candy bars for months.

Day one; You put a lighter to wrappers and your eyes are a wildfire.

it’s only when a stranger starts picking
pulling bark and sap starts running
desperately retreating to the warm comfort
of the mud around those buried roots

it’s only when you let down defenses
the brick let’s way to picket fences
and discomfort displaces the sun
of a summer day

am i a clam laboring away at a precious pearl,
or just a broken boy turning my back on the world?