by ‘Chip on My Shoulder’ aka Kyle Nathaniel
If you’re White, i can’t answer.
Now I’m ignorant.
Because I’m Black,
knowing this five letter word
is the definition of struggle.
Black hoody and a bag of skittles will get you
Being in the wrong neighborhood will get you
beaten half to death.
By the ones protecting and serving.
Words are sticks and stones,
check in a motel and never check out.
Once out of the womb, i got a strike
Not for how loud i cried or how i wriggle my toes.
Now i wonder did the doctor smack my butt
to get the first hit on his prey?
A simple color has people turning their nose up at my presence.
Always i have to make a stand, while living in constant chaos.
Free? Who’s free? Not me. A rich Black Man can’t even buy freedom.
Chains, slave songs, cracks of the whip. Memories of my history cry out for help.
Oh yeah, i forgot one: never being recognized for things we’ve created or done.
Forever I’m entrapped in a world
that is drunk and Nature is the bartender.
Forever a slave to people’s
Life means guilt to a Black Man.
Life + Me = Guilty!
Send our brother some love and light: Kyle Nathaniel, 15724-026,
FCI Beckley, P.O. Box 350, Beaver, WV 25813. This poem was submitted by
the God Black Warrior Allah (Brad Ford).