AM (Feburary 16,1992 / Maryland)


My ancestors sold to their white masters.
And soon their bodies become trees of tainted fruit.
A shame that Porcelain skin taught to scorn darken flesh
and generalize that all were danger, scum.

Once their were unity among my people.
Now divison, based on shades of the same flesh
men of shade impregnate their woes and leave their mistake behind.
The ideal gangstas
The diamond platted teeth
When will we rise?
From the televised riches
When will we rise?
From our uproarious attiude
When will we rise?
From the chromed wheels
When will we rise?
From the mentions of an oreo
Maybe these broad shoulders
hold hurt and disappointment of these men

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Comments (1)

very well done. no wonder i love february so much. you handled your poetic biznez.