Where Are You Headed?

Enslaved by thought so I carry the tale with worn feet,

My kind was contained to cultivate something sweet.

Sugar cane working,

Rays from the sun start to sting-

My ancestors with worn feet wished for fresh wings.

Grounded physically and mentally-

Cursed with degradation,

and the same degradation synonomous with plantation.

Now we suffer discrimination within our own state-

Like "did you work in the house or in the field on the estate?"

Light skinned, dark skinned, house nigga, field nigga-

They want us dead and we still do the dirty work,figures.

When it comes to killing ourselves we're the best at it,

and we can't seem to get enough I guess we're the best addicts.

We make our own drugs and have the best connects-

Online with the plug, where's the money coming from next?

Cuz that's all that matters, the money that chatter,

But we don't want food for thought even with money on the platter.

If you want to hide it from us put it in a book-

If you want a fight from us give us a dirty look-

These are stereo types mixed with some truth-

But stereo types wouldn't grow if they didn't have roots.

Everyday my kind waters the tree,

and yea we have freedom now but are we really free?

We used to wear whips and chaines yesterday,

Now wer're looking to cop whips and chains today-

I hope you realize the similarity of yesterday and today.

Maybe you'll realize realize freedom's a rarity.

You have your free will, you can say that's fair-

But in the freeland, mentally, are you living there?

A free man isn't common and isn't seen often,

But a slave is as common as deadmen in coffins-

and they end up in it, as death is my witness,

Cuz freedom doesn't die and the truth doesn't lie.

A man couldn't set my people free-

From Lincoln to Obama none of them could save me,

For no man has the power to save,

save He.

The best thing is it's open invitation-

Walk by grace whether or not you worked on the plantation.

The message is as serious as a cardiac infarction,

Freedom ain't of this world and I'll have you know I'm a Martian.

Though I'm free, I still make mistakes

Just like my kind but I'm proud of my race.

Forget black history month, its black history veins

so everyday my blood pumps it's black history day.

So walk it out,

Know where your from and where you're headed too,

Not just in this life but when this life is through.

 

This poem is about: 
My community

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