Dedicated to my Kings & Queens-let us break our chains and come together, closing the gap
I’m hood, I’m street,
But that means something different to you than me.
Rocking six twists looking like ASAP Rocky,
I’m flossin me
This part, that part,
All the parts that make me me
Connected in a new way, I’m free
I’m free just to be
What you think impacts me naught
My ancestors—their blood, their sacrifice
Any version of Afro & Black I exemplify, by their bodies was bought
Mental enslavement has us calling each other boujee for wanting more
A hoe for embracing the powers of our sex—
Sex you freely take of and then utter the devil’s talk
Can I blame you?
Yes, you have a choice to caress chocolate and rich mahogany,
But you’re choosing to cast us into the muck with the pigs—
To embrace the dehumanization they laid out for us,
Forcing us into centuries’ long stys.
No, your mind and heart have been trapped too.
Heady with the sensations of power,
You take the only freedom offered to you—
The further degradation of Nubian Queens.
We’ve been conditioned to believe chickenhead, thot, bad bitch, crackhoe,
are adequate replacement titles
Come on brother
Think of your beautiful Black mother
Collectively caring for the whole community in life and through death.
Singularly, you may have craved more—
Love, attention, encouragement
Perhaps hate, neglect, and emasculation is all she ever gave.
Victim of the same slaver,
her milk soured under the constant abuse and oppression dealt to her
Heartbound to you, she fed you what she had
Though it poisoned you, she couldn’t stop.
How could she starve her child?
Protection doesn’t always come veiled with swirling cape.
Emotionally broken with an imprisoned mind,
she too was poisoned by her own sustenance
Survival can turn us cruel.
White hats in church
White hats storming the fields
Fire is always left behind
Scorched, we cling to whatever momentarily gives life,
Like the blistered skin seeking blood supply—
the only link keeping it alive
We dance on poles, stages, and in arenas & fields
We perform, are plied with attention—are lusted after,
And then scrutinized
On the auction block once more
We’re charted, pined after, drafted and managed
Entertainment for the white man’s gaze.
We’re ushered out the back door once the show comes to an end
Our talent, hard work, and desires mattered little then and perhaps less now
They cast us into such roles through manipulation—
Surely we could master such crafts out of our own desires
Surely we should be allowed to pursue whichever activity or profession we like
But are we?
Or simply running the hamster wheel they’ve set before us,
Keeping us stationary while having us believe we’re moving forward.
ASL | 12.12.19