Poetry: Melody of Being Animate

7.6.19 – 6.6.19|my name.

The truth is I thought about this so much, I re wrote it to be perfect when in fact we are nothing but, the truth is when I am asked about where I am from I say black I say Kenya I say Africa and nothing else, sit and watch their mind make me a mistake like I shot gunned so hard like I pulled out that chair so they could fall flat on their ass, like so they know that broken taste sentence be the worst punch line in replacement of who am I, like waking up from a bad dream, the truth is, this question does not intimidate my existence, it ignites my fire and I am watching the question burn alive into my voice I have engulfed its existence full stop, set it alight into the sky told the wind to drag its ashes right through black twitter ready to be asked again full stop, I will not stand here for this I am happy about my blackness so when you fix that mouth with that tone and say things like the n word is derogatory, I am reminded again that you know nothing of what you think your savior dressed skin looks like, the truth is, when I look around me about how my blackness is seen in a room covered by eyes it does not feel good to been seen by these thoughts I mean what I’m saying is passive racism is to be seen by their own thoughts, a savage waste land of my blood my hair dry from all my heat, damaged, I am attempted to set them on fire and this time I choked on my tears, the truth is, when asked about my blackness I say beautiful, I say look how much of my parents, I say love and blackness and enough, and then I say my name too.

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