A Glimpse Into My Life

See it through my eyes & understand me a little more

Scared to Write…

I wrote this about three years ago. I’ve shared it since…but I thought of it because someone said I was a good writer. This is what I’m most proud of.

Sadly, I haven’t written anything for real since then.

The Black Experience

 

Welcome to the Black Experience

Where Black skin signals a troubled soul and corrupt spirit
Nappy hair and thick lips hint at the ignorance of those which society loathes
Single mothers and absent fathers
Sisters spiritually raped and physically broken
Brothers are weakened vessels, no longer wearing the crowns bestowed upon their ancestors
Where souls moan in unison and vacant expressions beg you to ask
“What’s going on?”

Welcome to the Black Experience

Come with me as we are stripped of royal titles
Taken far from home
And reduced to a state beneath humanity
Deemed a cursed people
Mentally stifled
Watch as the minds jump ship from the bodies
The spirits of the willful and proud are broken
Until all are empty
Come walk with me bound by chains
Head to toe
Silently falling in line

This is the Black Experience

Work by my side in the sweltering heat from sunup to sundown
Witness the forced separation of families
Children torn from mothers, husbands removed from wives
Walk down this road as Emancipation in proclaimed
Witness the Reconstruction of the Great White Hope
Our oppressor
That which comes for us in the night

This is the Black Experience

Lie by my side under nights that are lit by the burning torches of Jim Crow
Do you feel the burn in your chest as you hold your breath and
Pray to a God that looks much like your Oppresor?
Can you feel the terror coursing through your body as
You listen for the sound of foreign feet on pebbles nearing your home as you beg,
“Lord this night we pray,
No not my husband?!?”
And desperation fills your voice as you whisper,
“Take me and
…not my son!”

This is the Black Experience

Thick lips and a wide nose continue to hint to the world
A status of inferiority
Do you recognize the glances of the well-meaning contempt?
“Get up!”
They say
“Work hard and remove yourself from the vestiges of poverty!”
All the while holding their foot over your throat.
You can’t breathe.
Just like your father and his father and his father couldn’t breathe.

This is the Black Experience

The neighborhoods have already died.
Long ago,
The life support was taken.
Raise up your eyes and bear witness to the
Crumbling spirits of children barely able to
Reach the window sill
Watch them age right before your eyes
As they play during recess in a yard that eerily mirrors the
Correctional facilities where many like them have gone before.
Look now.
Look to your left and notice the collapsing houses.
Places unfit for even the wildest of animals.
Look to your right.
No real signs of life.
These are the jungles.
These are the streets.

This is the Black Experience

Trees don’t grow and few blades of grass peek through broken concrete,
Bear witness to this place.
Mammoth buildings gutted by fire.
Unsafe streets manned by a cadre of men whose sole job is to
Ensure that anarchy stays here.
No jobs.
No food.
No life.

This is the Black Experience.

The Land of Affirmative Action and Equal Opportunity
Merit.
“The reason you have nothing is because you lack morals.”
That’s what they spit at us
As they draw their invisible lines.
Those boundaries that they don’t care to admit
But is easily recognized by the Darker Brother.

The Black Experience.

Young

Gifted

Black

Educated and…

Unemployed.

The Black Experience.

The place where you pray
To be that Token.
That fare to a place much better than this.
You’ll be the Realized Dream of a
Thousand ancestors.

The Black Experience.

Crushed dreams.

The Black Experience.

Dehumanized souls.

The Black Experience.

Walking corpses.

The Black Experience.

Hold on tightly, Visitor.
As you walk through this space,
Did you realize you clutched your bag to your side?
Did you realize that you began to stink of fear?

The sun is setting and people, you once believed,
To be docile,
Have suddenly become the deepest, darkest, and scariest image that you can imagine.

This is the Black Experience.

No longer are we your Brothers.
We are simply the Other.
The one from which you wish to escape.

But hold on.
It’s just a bit further.

You look to your left and see a young Savage
Jeans low, eyes drawn to the pavement.
A voice whispers to you,
“Walk faster, he only wants to rape you.”
You look to your left and see a young Whore.
Clothed in the latest fashions,
Standing in a suggestive pose.
Inside, your corrupt soul is telling you,
“She’s turning her tricks and surely she has kids to feed at home.”

The Black Experience.

Hold on now,
Get a hold of your anger.
Like the animals we are,
We can smell your fear and in
A place of
Nothing
We hope for nothing more than
Something
Don’t try us.
You’ll lose.
Darwin told your kind we were better built for this
There’s no way a Civilized One could win a fight against
The Savage.
The Primal Ones.

The Black Experience.

Just a little longer.
Your nightmare is almost over.

Step over the downtrodden soul lying in the gutter
High on a substance that takes him further than the heavens
To a place that not even your God is aware of
An empty place
A vacant place.

Just a bit further now
Do you see your Promised Land?
Clean streets
Cordial neighbors and
No broken homes.
A place where
Derelict schools are not the norm.
One child and
One desk and
Space.

This Promised Land!
Present fathers
Wed mothers
You’re almost there now.

You’ll leave this place
You’ll forget this world
You’ll shut up your mind
Dear Visitor.

You’ll move to a haven where
Institutional Racism is something unfathomable
Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness are all real to you.

You’re almost out now.
Just walk on.
You can feel it.
Freedom
Redemption
Hope
Assurance.

Clean skies.
You’re almost there.

Breathe a little easier.
That’s it.

Just one more step.
Don’t turn to look back.

Forget the Dark Ones that you’ve left
For homes with White Picket Fences
That surround the homes of those with Paler Faces.
Golden rays of sunshine illuminate those with
Golden strands of hair, placing upon their heads what seems to be a halo.

The places of angels.

That of Heaven.

That place of peace.

Take a breath now.

One…

Two…

Three.

Release.

You’ve now leaving

 
The Black Experience.

*My first poem since I was 13. (written in 2010)

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