Black History Month
Got a chip of the world sittin’ on my shoulders.
Feelin’ pressure in layers folding over.
Weight of expectation from this dark pearl growin’ bolder,
As my heart of metal is only gettin’ colder.
So I found a tribe that steeps its growin’ culture,
From Zebulun to Zulu, young elders becomin’ older.
Savin’ black history, present, and black future,
‘Cuz what they teachin’ today lacks stature.
So fuck this ‘given’ month I do it avidly.
From sun up to sun down I sing it gladly:
We shall overcome but won't hit prosperity.
Like misery and hate, ignorance keeps company.
Worse is that it goes unnoticed.
Blinded the eyes through packaged doses.
Dope dog sniffed out, ass’ shitty grosses.
Gots the habit now, and the cycle keeps goin’.
For in the eyes of Uncle Sam it's cheaper to sell it.
Keep Uncle Ben down then send him to jail; it
Drives more than Ms. Daisy, but to Davis it compels this
Fight for freedom ‘cuz the civilities are just basics.
For it is true more people are hurtin’ than are eating.
For it is real that more profit is gained in killin’ than in feedin’ them,
And we hold these truths to be self-evident.
Beyond that, we hold them to be relevant and prevalent.
And it’s amazin’ how it’s gone on for centuries,
And how suppression imbeds itself in genetic memories.
It goes so much deeper than veins so tainted,
Ghettos and projects are only where they placed us.
The mind is what has been so deviated, so wasted
Conditionin’ then degraded to demean Negro races.
Thoughts of black brutes rally against their brethren,
Turnin’ in their brothas and sistas thinkin’ they gon’ win.
Your chains are the same but are within,
And maybe I don't know shit ‘cuz I'm no African.
My name is formed x and has no sentiment.
My skin is only ‘dipped’ with pigment, like it’s not legit
But I am at no cost anyone’s victim.
I am not a big-lipped big-butt untamed mane.
I am not the image of uncivilized, criminalized, or untrained.
I am no Aunt Jemima, no mistress, nor slave;
I scream of beauty and chant of change.
I stand here, eyes opened, glaring at you.
I know who I am, where I'm from, and what I do.
And since I am stripped of my heritage I'll make mine new.
Breakin’ down the box to sojourn the truth.
And if I’m just the pour ghetto chil’,
Then you fucked up teachin’ me to read.
Learnin’ for myself how to write and think.
This ‘given’ month you so admirably beseech,
Is just to mask your pile of shit that endlessly reeks.
Stainin’ the sheets, red white and brown.
It’s airin’ out for the public to see now.