Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

4.6.17
Black magic (hero.)

Cotton picked finger tips, skin kissed by the sun turning shades of this good earth, slavery is no forgotten sawn metamorphosis of its own history, how far have we come, even in these early future can black skin still feel lashes of words that sip poison down their bigotry with words that have been used by colonizers too vividly dose this black skin witness two souls when they gauge this kind of spoken evil, are we called too sensitive or too loud, can we not both exist and be hero in this skin, are we not allowed to praise what has been forbidden, do we become the punch lines, unapologetic has been, two too many times have I had to teach the learning’s of the word nigga, watch it leave foreign land, foreign voices do we adjust to its trend, which is to say do you mean the way black is still a casualty, when the world wants to wipe you out do you still abide to trend, must you become hero, god like powers must be mother earth, this tsunami of ancestry blood bitter sweet, to the pronunciation of the word nigga glocks out of their fingertips as I watch this mind decolonize friendship, the word nigga has only one heart brake, do not slay its vibe in the same mood as missing out on a new fad, these syllables have been engraved into so many oppressions you have no right to take it and miss use its pronunciation with that mouth concealed in split tongue Β you can not have this blood, this good hair and this skin, we have been had, glock ready since we been watching hero from hero tear away at these chains and call it healing, these cotton picked tips, skin kissed by the sun turning shades of this good earth, we are not forgotten, you have not yet witnessed hero enough, watch it, we are roots that can not stop growing from our own pain, you have not learnt about this kind of unstoppable black magic, so watch it well, we’re not done bleeding ink to match our words