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Poem of an angry black man
I have paper cuts in my cheek
From the fiery saliva I spit on the sheets
As I struggle to conceive the words
That won’t offend the very people who offend
And disregard me because of the color of my skin.
My throat suffocates as I choke on the words I hold back
When I see them wearing my culture as a mask.
My tongue tenses when Becky gets the flory
For her locs and twist
But I’m ghetto and dirty for my afros and cornrows
And y’all wonder why i’m pissed?
My mouth is muzzled because if I’m too BOLD
I’m problematic. I can’t say what comes to mind automatic.
I’m sick and tired of everything about my skin being
With a joke intended
We need to end it.
My spine dangles and hangs from the trees.
America, the land of the free
But they still killing people who look like me
Is it that you don’t care or you just don’t see?
You only feel bad when we bring it up for you personally to read.
Being told I should be proud of my skin even though my color is always associated with sin.
Even though i’m only cute
For a black dude.
Even though only my culture is relevant?
Being sexualized for my skin tone and features
Y’all only recognizing the things my people have done for 28 days
Not the 400 years and the x number of ways
My blood has poured out from open wounds and veins so that maybe one day
Just one day
We can finally be the same?
I am not powered
I am not equal
Their lifestyle has devoured
Our right as people
I can not be silent about it
And hope it will go away
There is no walking out of it
I live it day to day
I don’t want the apology
I’m sorry for the past
I want the apology i’m sorry for my ignorance
Don’t tell you don’t see color
Because if you didn’t
How would you see i’m different
If my difference is hidden?
I’m not afraid of violence
I’m more terrified of [silence]