A list revolves in my mind everyday.
A broken record of a song that'll never play.
It was passed down like a gem from the widows of a sun entitling a life well deserved, and a job well done.
T'was for the ones glowing black, they'd say, the ones who keep fighting, long after their days.
The ones not born into wealth or inked in dip, but dragged from home against the churning of a English ship and now mother tells me to take these words to heart.
A list now revolves in my mind everyday.
That every night I'm told to pray.
That every morning I'm begged to stay
That before I could even breathe she'd accuse me of leaving because no matter what star-spangled uniform I wear or what smile I possess every being of my black body screams out target.
And if I dared argue why...out comes the name of a dead black boy-
Clogging up those hopes and dreams because my ancestors are screaming: Don't shoot!
And yes it was a broken record, but it was true.
Nod your head, respond smartly, always answer with a false smile on your face.
Don't let them tell you different, don't let them tell you apart.
And no matter how hard you're dying inside, don't let them know from the start.
Before long I could memorize every rule my mother said
Before long I knew why I was forced to get ahead
Before long I knew where my hands must rest when I see blue and red.
And against the blackness between the stars I'd cower in fright
Like those ancestors before me who fled in the night-
From the whips and the howls of the horse-ridden blights
Of a scorn! - As my mother would say.
And yes it was a broken record, but it was true.
No overnights or sleepovers here or there.
No afterparties or music festivals within the crisp cold air.
No wandering alone when the moon gleams high.
No words to publicize if the enemy is disguised
No girlfriends or friends shall ever overpower their ploys-
And if I dared argue why...out comes the name of another dead black boy-
Clogging up those visions and nightmares because my ancestors are screaming: I can't breathe!
Writhing on the ground as a boot stands afoot their precious skulls.
When mankind's regime seems to fall full.
And all that matters is money this, money that.
As if the world revolves around selfishness and not our damned lives intact!
And yes it was a broken record... but it was true.
That every night I'm told to pray
That every morning I'm begged to stay
That every night I lead the way with my mother's fears washing over my shoulder blade like a broken waterfall and -
I-I cannot stop it!
These words spoken softly or plain aren't built on silence but on wisdom alone.
They're twisted by fate, and broken by bone.
They're not just warnings, they're truths hidden by grief
Of a time when her life was written on the backside of a wooden ship and a paper motif.
Like a story that nobody would dare bear listen -
Since it carries no tune. Just a teardrop in the sun where it glistens.
And yes it was a broken record, but it was true.
If I cannot speak true. If I cannot speak fair. If words cannot highlight this moment...
Then I'm broken too.
YOU ARE READING
A LONELY WORLD OF WONDER: An Anthology ✓
FantasyA monster with a past. A boy driven by grief. A dragon lost in time. And a stranger beneath the sea. Stories, Lessons, and Poems aplenty surge together in a massive anthology meant to twist your very reality, or break it.
