Black, A Poem

Just a little something before you get to the poem…

I grew up in a state where you can feel and see the racial divide. My heart hurts because black people have endured so much for so long. The pressure of trying to prove that we are warm and loving, intelligent and driven, can wear a people down. People are so offended at the “Black Lives Matter” movement, but they will have to grin and bear it because it’s so necessary. It’s hard being black in America, but then someone will say “Look at all the opportunities we’ve given you.” Who are you? God? Inequality is so wide and deep, and so in our faces especially with the globe becoming smaller through the web and social media. Now we see everything. The hurt and pain on parents faces who lost a child, to police violence is devastating. We all feel it. We fight against outside forces and have to guard our homes from the onslaught of violence in the community from the guns and the hustle. When black people are quiet the world moves on, there is no uproar on Fox News, or Limbaugh. When African Americans speak up, rally, picket, or stand up for their rights-now we have a problem, now we’re being divisive. There is too much hurt, too many lives sacrificed because of the brutality shown towards the people of color in this country. When we get tired, we get tired, and unfortunately riots happen, which causes further turmoil and heartbreak. One of the good things that can come out of any movement of any generation is art. The photographs and journals of those that have a front row seat will tell the tales and plights of black men and women, children who were swept up in the struggle to hold onto life. The pens and fingers of poets and writers come alive when the pain hits. Songs will hit home, paintings will be hung. By chance, opportunity or death, black people will always have a say and make a mark on this world. The only thing we can hold onto as a race is love and mercy-these, in my opinion are the safest places to be. 

Mad Love, 



No end in sight to the way we are seen

Black until the end of days

Melanin mixed with sun rays

Soul food after church on Sunday’s

Universal rhythms are felt in the funeral parlor

Ask Mr. and Mrs. Martin

Judged and picked apart like a novelty at the least

Mostly misdiagnosed with the most blame

Innocents lives spent on the highways

Denial is the lead prosecutor in the trial

Black lives scattered

Color schemes on every content denote hope

Same shades of skin tones under southern microscopes

Kidnapped and trapped in a world thrown on top of us

In God we trust, not South Dakota busts

Diversity is a dirty word


Bills passed and good fights fought

Tans and bans in affect at the same time

Colored only and lonely songs sung at midnight

The plight of Africans standing in line for permission

Missions of division and slight racial renditions

Altered black things



The lineage of things

Mali to The Horn

Kenyan and West born

Commonwealth to Cancun

Black fists are covered with black gloves for work in the inner cities

Infestations of too many overlords

Nations snatched away in victory only to be celebrated 400 years later

Anniversaries rubbed in black faces

Home of the slave

Land of the fleeced

Evil won’t rest until black lives are ceased

We can’t breathe or relax

Prison housing for all

Same tax



One thought on “Black, A Poem

  1. This brother’s is inspiring. He’s the next generation of writers with meaning, purpose and passion. Read his book Behind the Noise ” It’s amazing how one can find his or her way in the midst of chaos”


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