A Negro’s Cry

Janae Polk, Staff Writer

It wasn’t sorrow and pain in their eyes, it was rage
The shame lay beneath the eyes of the once innocent
The once pure, The once saved
Copper skin has always been a beauty deficiency to the bluest of eyes
The dark velvet skin of my sisters and brothers will be forever incomprehensible
But the bullet and pistol will be our eternal demise
In this corrupt world, through misery and strife
We always gain the power to raise the knife
Because those judges still have the nerve to give black men twenty five to life
Divide and Conquer, that shit seems to work
Systematic genocide, black on black crime, man made by a race who conceives with their own kin and kind
Man made by a race who rapes their women and get six months due to a psychological imbalance
I can still feel the snapping sound of the worn out whip, the spit that flew out of the massa’s mouth as he screamed, “ Die nigga! ”
I can still feel the burning wounds on my back from my old mothers who dare said,“ No, please.”
I fell to my knees on the altar and asked God, “ Are these the blessings we’re supposed to receive.”
Ignorant ideologies, twisted logic, and reverse psychology
Enforced to keep us kings and queens apart
Blatant Inequality
Excuse my negative connotation
But I think it’s important to know that this nation ain’t all what it seems
The American Dream will forever never be in my reach
No matter how far I stretch out my slender black hands
I’ll be lucky enough to receive a grain of sand
You can force the gun into my possession, it’s funny all those lessons I learned in history, I guess that’s why capitalists call it the “ Invisible Hand”
Guide me to the dark and fiery pits of hell
Make me pull the trigger on the ones I love
But salvation is mine
I’ll wipe the blood of the beaten with the clean white sheets of the KKK
Guide my brothers and sisters to drop all the AKs, the Calibers, the UZIs
Use the rope from all the hanged, tie them together and pull us all back to our feet
Let us all hold hands and sing the Negro Blues in harmony
Because we all know the reparations that were supposed to come with 40 acres and a mule ain’t coming
So let’s keep on runnin’ to our future, to our salvation, to our freedom
The uniqueness of my race will forever be undefined
It will never be exemplified by a race who tries too damn hard to know what it’s like to be me
My culture is not a trend to be picked, bought, worn or torn
This dashiki is mine, this hair is mine, and this skin is mine
I would never sell myself for a dime even if  that means my name signed cursive across the dotted line
I wear with it pride, and I’ll be damned if the devil comes across me and says, “ Girl, your soul is mine.”
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