Slam

Wade in the Water Children

They waded in the water

To escape the sea of confinement

And they see their children wading in their bones

With escapism known only to those

With the alabaster skin of massers

Who herded them in chains and masses of

Blood and sweat and tears and

Blood and sweat and tears and

Sweat and tears and

Tears as

Tears leaked from her baby's eyes

Over the tears in her sweet, soft, chocolate skin

The wet drip on her cheek matched

The red drip on the gravel in synchrony with

The calming shush as mama placed a Band-Aid on her knee.

And as the tears leaked from his tired eyes

Over the tears in his soured, scarred, chocolate skin

The wet drip on their cheeks matched

The red drip on the gravel in synchrony with

The callous swish of the whip as overseer carved history on his back.

You see, mama couldn't place a Band-Aid because she died

In the sea her baby plays in.

Instead, he had uncles hanging from above, flinching spectators on either side and

Blood in ashes between his toes and he thought,

"Lord, I pray my babies don't live like this."

But her baby's brothers are watching from above, blind spectators on either side and blood-stained pavement beneath her Js

With deprecation carved into her baby's back

She marches forward with her head held high

To a predictable future.

As though deeply indented scars adorn her

Sweet soft chocolate skin, visible not to the privileged eye,

Is felt by all Africans and is resounded through pain and

Spirituals of her baby's ancestors.

It took 8 minutes and 46 seconds to start a revolution.

A king being lynched on tarmac instead of a tree to let us breathe.

A queen shot in her bed instead of in a row to bring them to life.

A century of deafening silence to elicit an uproar.

Our future will be shaped by the actions of the present fueled by the happ'nings of the past.

Frankly, I'm surprised it didn't take longer to wake yous up

But you get what you get

And what we've got is the chance to finally make a difference

What we've go is the chance to start a movement that doesn't end until true equality

We have been earning and winning our freedom in every generation for centuries.

We're just waiting for you to accept that.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

This fist is for everyone who has been a victim of injustice. This fist is fro anyone who has had to succumb and conform in order to survive. This fist is to show Black Lives Matter.

Equality is not to be earned. It is a right for all and yet we still have to fight for it.

Support #BlackLivesMatter by supporting black-owned businesses, reading Black writers on Wattpad and signing petitions. Remember, you don't need a sign to protest - you just need a voice.