I may be just a black face to some.
I usually write what I cannot speak.
For some reason I have found safety in words, penned to paper.
As if no one in the world has an eraser.
The God in the sky, erasing the tears in my heart.
So I pen my words in ink, so that they cannot be erased,
But, my paper bleeds.
Like the blood of my people stolen from their land.
Like the blood I imagine covering their dreams.
Sticky and smelly as oxygen turns the color of their life force.
How many times have you tried to cover up the stain of death?
How many dreams have you killed with your words,
Or the actions and thoughts of your heart?
I see blood on the faces of my children.
I see blood on dreams left on floors.
I see blood on the houses where you have been,
Demanding that they let your spirit in.
I tried to watch roots, the history you want me to believe,
I know that there is more to the story.
The TV screen was covered with the blood of half-truths.
I wished they would really would get to the root.
‘Cause there was a story before Alex Haley tried to uncover the blood.
That’s the story that you speak nothing of,
But we spill it, spit it, quilt it, and write on the walls,
I stand tall with that story supporting my spine.
Its been whispered throughout centuries and spoken through time.
We’ve rapped it, sung it, bellowed it loud,
It starts with these words, “I’m black and I’m proud!”
When my mother combed my hair and adorned it with beads.
I asked her why and she told me, “You are a Queen!”
Your hair is your glory to let the world know,
The beads are your diamonds and that’s why they glow.
She told me of ancestors and how they adorned their hair,
Parading thru the village is how they would share,
The beauty of the gift of hair bestowed to their Queen.
Then they would dance a celebration for all to see.
With one word, you reduced it, “pickaninny!”
But I stood proud and sat still for her to prepare me,
To face the world for all to see, my glory, the Queen in me.
The ritual has lived, myself putting the beads in place,
I can tell those who’ve heard the story by the look on their face.
The pain in their eyes, hair missing patches,
No magic tiara surrounding their face.
The laws you put in place not to educated their providers.
Hiding behind the blood makes you all liars!
Dragon slayers of the dream.
Killers of Destiny!
I whisper it slowly, daughter you are a Queen!
Limits on hair grease, lotions and combs,
Destiny stolen cause they left her alone.
The Blood continues to flow…..
The stain cleaner, the vacuum, the clean up man.
All hero’s that have been slain, before they completed the plan.
Wanting me to believe that it was only Martin Luther King.
He was a great man, but he didn’t start the Dream.
Somewhere deep inside, where pride pushed his heart.
His ancestor cried out, “A revolution will start.”
Malcom X, Medger Evans, Emmit Till,
All great men who truths you steal!
Go back into time before the black holocaust!
Go back into time to the pyramids you admire,
Check the blood on the ground, where my people gave birth.
Math and Science, it was us of course.
Read the markings on the wall, that you credit to the Egyptians.
The mulatto race, that changed my name, stoled my fortunes, and my fame.
We have been slaves before, that’s why we survived!
The dream never dies, just multiplies!
I read the story, seen the maps, heard the names of the rivers.
You think I don’t know?
The God you serve, whom you believe pitied us.
He was born in Africa and looks like us!
I am a decedent of a King!
Obama’s blood is birth through me!
Light skinned, brown skin, blue black, the spectrum of the color,
Mix breed, pure bred, I will not be fed, the deceptions of your plan.
No matter how many rapes you have planned,
You could not steal my identity!
Im not angry, bitter, or racist, about you stealing our seed.
Your history has allowed me to adjust to the assassinations of my Kings.
I just watched the blood of dreams flow through the streets.
I whisper the words in the ears of the children, you are Queens and Kings,
I listen to the sound of jail cells close with brought guilty pleas,
I write the words on the my paper that I cannot speak.
Then I watch slowly as my paper bleeds!
I may be just a black face to some.