Still I Bleed History

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First they came for my color, I was considered corruptive, despicable, and unholy. “Soiled, stained, scowling, wicked, dismal, disgrace.”

I didn’t confront, because that’s the definition of black.
Then they came for my eyes, coursing veins hugging my pure, crystal white globes.

I didn’t confront, because I was already blind.
Then they came for my blood… while it was still blue… while it was fresh, fluid, flowing protein.

I didn’t confront, because I had already been drained.
Then they came for my skin… colored with its wickedness.

I didn’t confront, because I had already shed like the animal I was told.
Then they came for me. Left Vulnerable.
I didn’t confront, because I was my bare apish hands. Shackled… imprisoned By a Price Tag.
I was not white.
I was blind from all the tears that my eye lids cradled from
my lost babies.
My African blood, now jived to the rhythm and the drum rolls of death.
Kept on a leash… a black lab… like the dog I am.


2010…
And my Ancestors still bleeds history.





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This article has 5 comments. Post your own now!

ElliFever said...
Nov. 7, 2010 at 3:35 pm
Wow this is Amazing. It shows so much depth on what it feels like to be sent into slavery. I absolutely love this piece..
 
RaisonDetre replied...
Nov. 8, 2010 at 7:59 pm
Thanks a lot!
 
ElliFever replied...
Nov. 8, 2010 at 8:07 pm
Your Welcome, many poets don't catch the realism in Issues such as these, and this is amazing!
 
RaisonDetre replied...
Nov. 8, 2010 at 8:12 pm
I need to check out your work sometime!
 
ElliFever replied...
Nov. 9, 2010 at 3:06 pm
I'm still waiting for them to post mine Up, But when they do I'll Let you know :)
 
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