Presence of the Past

My hands have held the burdens of my ancestors.

My heart has felt the cold hate of racism.

My legs have walked down the passageway where my brothers where pulled over.

My eyes have seen the trees where my sisters where hanged.

My mouth has sang the word " Freedom."

My tears have stained the cotton filled pillow my grandma has pulled

I aspire to tell the truth.

My pen is my inspiration.

This skin is my inspiration. 

This black skin is not a threat.

This black skin is a story.

A story of redemption and struggle.

I am a woman. 

I am the slaves great great granddaughter.

I am black and I am proud.