I don't create poetry, I create myself, for me my poems are a way to me. ~Edith Södergran

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Brown Skin

Dear God it's me please don't forget
I haven't seen your heaven yet
please don't be mad don't look away
you burned my skin the other day..
you're not perfect this I know
I have the scars that say its so
I steal the towels when they don't see
and wash real hard..still black I be
The things they say
I've caused this hate
rethink this life you did create
My eyes they burn
from tears at night
cause I'm only 6 and cannot fight...
I've prayed to you from on my knees
I'm scared to swing like them on trees
God please you see its not your fault
you had some fun but I got caught...
If you get some time drop by one day
and take this painful skin away...
Carefully placed between my hands
those were the words I held onto every night at the age of six
when I was left thinking that all of the tricks
that life had to offer had been played on me,
heart held out for the world to see
that through all the flaws and imperfections
I was this little evolving source of light and reflections,
a series of directions without growth or assistance
just one more step closer to existence
on those days when I don't have the fight
to move my pen on this page
I know its the rage of that little wounded child
still reminding me of how deep the pain was at age 6
that age of breakin shit
the kicks and bruises, silent screams and fear of nooses
I now know that it wasn't my skin that God had burned
but a soul that felt it had earned its sole role as a minority
a lesser piece of the whole
some fucked up role that I was told when I was still life's mold
just six years old....
and as the seeds in my heart began to grow
I forgot which revolution it was beating for
and I wondered if the world would ever cry
for other young brothas like me hiding a soul that died
because they were lied to about the hope they had always prayed for..
I wondered if I could ever find the words to teach the growth
that tries to rise from society's spoon fed bull shit and lies
if I am ever blessed to be the proud father of a son
everyday I would pick him up in my arms
talk to him about the man he can become
teach him about the run
free him to the chase life takes after
show him how to live in the hopes and laughter
the things that make this grind worth pressing towards
when he reaches the age of 6
I will hold open his hands and walk him through
all the doors I still lack the courage to go thru
so he will understand this new truth..
My flesh and blood, my souls begin
your skin's not burned, you have not sinned
lift those eyes and dry your face
raise your voice and make your place..
don't live in silence let them see
they put you down still black you be..
take this pen, unclench your fist
mow your 6 become this wish
that others force through parted lips
stand up
be strong
this skin that God now trusts you with
should hold no pain
it was his gift~

No comments:

Post a Comment