I match steps
As we walk
One little detail
Escapes my eyes
My longer feet protrude
They may touch the finish line
First
You notice though
You always do
A tug
At my sleeve stops me
In my tracks
You stop too
I try everything to no avail
You cannot watch me struggle
And rush to help
You always do
Your eyes cut the feet to size
Perfect
Being equal
“Black-man,” you say we’re “bulldogs?”
Well let me tell you a thang or two
bout these “bulldogs” and their plight.
“Black-man,” “our” bark growls at “your” quote-un-quote plights!
And need I say,
“Our” bark is waaay bigger than “your” silent bite!
Therefore, “we” woof-off when they come
fo’ “your” blaaack daughters, and sons.
And yes! “We” howl at all the injustices done.
And then, “we” have the nerve to growl
when the man do “you-in” wrong!
So “black-man,” when “you” feel the need
to refer to “us,” as “bull-dogs,” remember this…I guarantee,
“your own” mother, sister, aunts, and Grands like “us-bulldogs,”
done barked up some strange Poplar Trees.
NOW DROP DOWN TO YOUR CRUSTED KNEES,
BEG, AND BOW DOWN TO “US,” BLAAACK, BEAUTIFUL, BRILLIANT QUEENS,
BEFORE, “WE” LET THE REAL DOGS OUT, AND COME BARKING UP YOUR “POPULAR” TREE!
Dedicated to:
“BLACK-MAN,” WHEN YOU COME FOR “US” COLORED-GALS…REMEMBER THIS, YOU BETTER COME CORRECT! R.E.S.P.E.C.T. (Aretha)
More at http://www.reneespoems.com/.
It comes as a stark reminder in a text snapshot,
My infant grandson, sprawled smiling on the stone block in D.C.:
I have a dream,
The great King’s legacy.
When I was born, there was no articulated dream.
Only the dream in the hearts of those who could not speak it.
The arrogant looks, beatings, shootings, lynchings.
My parents, unawares, could not dream.
Now, my son, the father of my grand boy, can dream.
He placed his wriggly son on that sun-drenched stone today.
Yes, Dr. King, my grandson may well walk hand and hand with your great-granddaughter.
Not for everyone yet.
But I still have a dream.
Who decides
who lives in the down-
turned world of hard
back breaks and heart
wringing?
Who decides the major
tongue and the dominant
skin?
Who decides?
More at http://jddehartpoetry.blogspot.com/.
I can feel their eyes piercing through my skin, their judgments
stripping me of my dignity. My soul is pure, yet they say I’m the Devil’s child because of who I am.
Struggling each day to keep myself locked inside, putting on a different persona everyone can like, pretending to be someone I’m not, someone society wants me to be. Afraid of rejection, I hide like prey does from its killer.
Craving acceptance. Stifling my conscience.
Its time for a change.
I am who I am
and the only thing you can do is accept me as the human being I am.
Because, at the end of the day I’m just like you, our blood has one color.
I am not less than others but as equal as all. For equality is freedom and the world is my oyster.
I am who I am
And shall live each day as myself.
I am who I am.
Don’t kiss with one
mouth
then kill with the next
Don’t pretend to care
then rattle like
a snake
Don’t preach
platitudes then talk
of how much better you
think you are
Get in the gutter
gather in the dust
none of us stands
above the other.