Nigga blues

Tue, 11/25/2014 - 14:19 -- Alonyia
He never said the word
He didn’t have to
He sold blue eyed dreams down a nappy head highway 
And preached blonde haired sermons to charcoal smiles 
And you know what?…they believed every word he said 
He coaxed them to drop every white picket hope  
Strategically, he removed glasses from eyes going blind from searching for a promised land. 
Then…He called them to chaos
Set back in a chair made of the tears of every motherless child
And watched us KILL each other!
But oh, no…don’t worry…because He never said the word
He just bleached our eyes white until we didn’t recognize anything blacker than a paper bag
We sang hymns of whips and chains
Chain, chain, chain hanging low 
Like strange fruit or
Desolate eyes examining a broken mirror looking, hoping, praying  for some semblance of a bad bitch
But it was never there  
Because nails can never be long enough, weave straight enough, face BEAT enough 
To appease long legged demons screaming 
“It MUST be yo ass ‘cuz it aint yo face”      
Tip drillin’ brown eyed diamonds into rhinestone rocks 
I found nothing but disgrace in every crystal stair I stepped
Steppin, tip-toeing through mind fields of political correctness bc 
The bruises don’t count if he never said…the word
So I called myself taking it back
Strapped myself in machinery too heavy for this broken back
And I sprayed
Shellshocked from HIStory 
I lit up the night with N-bombs CREATED to pierce Black skin
And had the audacity to call it my own
Take pride in the bullet holes 
Snapchatted the verbal massacre simply  bc massa lemme participate in the castration of my ancestry
All…with a word
A word he never said
He just handed us the sword and allowed us to pick and choose our own demise
Giftwrapped our blackness and left it hanging from our front porch like strange fruits
I..think he knew
when he made it 
That it would always be his
Tattooed his name on our backs and left us thinking we were taking something back…
That we were getting back to some semblance of what was black but…
The power was always his
He just made us think we were using it
Set back and laughed as we abused our own heritage 
And here it is
Crumbling from my hands like wet sand 
I’m stuck…and confused
Freeing myself of this noose
I too fondly call my Nigga Blues….
 
Poetry Slam: 

Comments

Kendall Arin

Wow. Respect. All I can say is Respect. This one literally hit my soul! 

Kendall Arin

"Snapchatted the verbal massacre simply  bc massa lemme participate in the castration of my ancestry" that line got me like wow. 

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