Learn more about other poetry terms
Once knew this girl,typical self hatred ran deep Like a kangaroo that hated it's own leap She was out of pocket with her tongue Her pain was old but her voice was young
Black Birds Black birds, black birds fly in the sky. Oh black birds, black birds why aren’t your words being heard.
"Put down the bleach, Your skin is not dirt that needs to be cleaned out, You are comprised of sienna,chestnut & Warm mahogany. Dark as the night sky,constellations are Tucked neatly underneath your bones.
I look in the mirror and I see the god Shango staring back at me. Where I expect to see my reflection, I do. And yet, it is more than it ever was. My broad chest and shoulders,
They want us to educate ourselves Yet when we do, they do everything to prevent it They tell us to go get a job Yet when we do, we are never "qualified for it" They tell us to have more emotion
Lord forgive them.They know not what they've done. White hands.
As I grew, I learned to curse this sun kissed skin. It felt like a trap to me, plaguing me as leper- socially condemned being… but after I gazed at my brother, the blackened night sky,
What is ugly? Ugly is, My dark melanated skin, My curly kinky hair, My curvy figured body, My wide nose, My full lips My illiterate speech, My questionable fashion, My culture,
Don't Judge the Color of My Skin
So, my skin isn't too light. Some might even say it's not right, just wrong. My hair isn't long by the beauty-man's standards. It lacks in flat and lifelessness. It's curly and wild, not wispy and slight. My eyes shaded with shadows and brown.
This poem is a dedication to my son Deshon Johnson who was mowed down by a Coach USA bus driver operating NJ Transit public transportation bus.