For the men I have loved and the sons I didn’t give birth to. The truth is not that I have been taught to not love you, the miracle is that I continue to love you, despite…
How many more sons must we invest
in freedom before we’re actually free?
The blood that flows through the streets
has become the rivers where we baptize
our dreams and our sons.
In the midst of the rivers of blood
we witness the drowning of our dreams
as it becomes the site where
prison walls are erected on the foundation
of our apathy.
We tuck our sons’ still-warm bodies into the
cracks of a society that has bastardized them.
Black people are America’s love child,
the ones they don’t want to claim. We were
ripped from the arms of our motherland
and made orphans and step-children
with no place to return home to.
Blood-soaked memories run through our veins.
Our bloodlines are fractured along the seams
and we now wear our brokenness
like a satin shawl to cover up our shame.
Can you not hear the people wailing
in the streets? We want to be heard
but we forgot how to use our quiet voice.
My heart gets broken, it seems, every day
I can’t take another heartbreak;
so many broken hearts will cause the heart
to disintegrate completely. Every time I see
your blood flowing through the streets
I fall to my knees, to try to wipe away
the bloodstains and the blood memory.
My arms are so damn tired.
Either I’m trying to carry you or I’m trying
to destroy you. – My maternal memory
implores me to seek the face of who you were
once, before they labelled you.
Labels sell false dreams and
they sold one to you. Did you
have to buy it? Consumerism:
the ability to sell you your brokenness
and you accept it like it’s
a birthday gift or your birthright.
The tears in my eyes glitter like diamonds
but from those, you look away. You don’t
want to see the pain you’re causing. Because
they’re not trying to sell you the pain you’re
causing me. To you, this is just part of the game.
I’m just someone for you to get over on.
Somehow you miscalculated the sum of all
my fears, missed the obvious truth: that I’m
crying my eyes out for you. Considered an MVP
you think you’ll win every fight you’re in,
but this is one fight you will not win
because I’m willing to fight for you
to win back that little boy soul that was stolen
from you. Many years ago a trickster stole
what belongs to you…and to me…you were
supposed to be my destiny, not my misery.
But they told you you were dead and you
believed them. But because I love you
I came to uncover the mystery of your death.
You were never dead. Just sleeping. And I
don’t need anyone’s permission to love you.
I already do. And because of that love
I will fight to the end to show you
that I need you, we need you. Whole.
When the blood stops running
in the streets, no one will need to
save you, for you will have saved yourself.
Peace & Love,