Why do I have to be here?
To sit and think about the pain that follows the scent of dark chocolate?
To prove my glory to the masses
Yelling from the mountain top that I am worthy
Will this reminder ever stop?
I try to hide my face in the clouds, but I hear those marching feet in the depths of my soul
They tell me that I am a slave
That Langston’s words were mere blindless hope
Is this seat at the table what he was describing?
Have we even left the kitchen?
Mouth fixed
Eyes blinded by the stories told
Is there a such thing as breaking free?
This large weight that hovers on the back of me.
Would they see me differently if I choose to leave this place be?
To fly among the birds and flow like the sea
How can anybody hold on for thing long?
I am too tired
Too weak to crawl this ever-evolving race of defeat
I yell out to God “Let me Be, Prepare a place for me where things aint this beat”
To be black is to be tough
Is to hold on to too much
Eyes closed; Deep breathe
She fells sound asleep to the gospel song her mom played for her when she was just a wee
Peace subsides, patience awaits her when rises
The sun gleaming from her bedroom window beaming on her face
God has given her another day
To live. To be. To cast her cares on the one who painted her hickory sweet.
Sweet like the pie made on holidays or like the sounds of Anita Baker on cleaning day
She realizes she was made with a purpose
That her Creator made her for His glory.
Dark skin, dreadful history may be apart of her makeup, but will never be the end for her story.