Playground
This was never fair,
From the beginning nor towards the end.
It will never be.
I recognize that as I look around me;
they recognize it too.
But what is it worth for them to care.
As I walk around,
My sneakers squeaking along the marble floors
I know I am not like them,
Nor will I ever be
I can not hide from what I am
Nor will they ever let me
What is it to them
Whether I trip over my feet
And land upon my head
Or whether I fall from a tree,
Tangled in my headphone wires
Hanging there dead. Where eventually,
They’ll see what had happened and how
History
Always
Repeats
But what should they care now
Using the name that broke my ancestors down in the first place
As a joke, not caring whether my fellow brothers
And sisters retaliate. They know not much will be done
Privilege before all else
They will never understand what I have feared;
Them
They would never understand the fear of hearing sirens
As you walk to your home, hoping they don’t see you
Though knowing you’ve done nothing wrong
Other than be born,
Different
They will never understand the fear
that paralyzes you as you get into the driver’s seat of a car
And drive like every other law-abiding citizen
Yet still wondering if this late turn signal
Or that U-Turn
Or that breath,
Would be your last
They do not, will not
Ever know
Yet, I never expect them to
We are the dirt swept under the rug
In the home of the “land of the free”
So what are they to know?
How are they to know of such things at all
The school systems claim they try,
Yet there are no improvements made
A few nobles try, but their cries
Are lost among a sea of lies that never reach the surface
But drowned, to block out the sound of those words
“Black Lives Matter”
But what am I to do?
I’m as much as a coward as they,
But for reasons I deem plausible.
No matter how equal I may feel to them
My kinky hair, ebony skin, plump lips, big nose
They expose me for who I truly am
Something I can not hide
But when did I begin to want to hide
When did I begin to hate what I loved to show?
The day I
Was turned into their
Zoo animal
Pushing and pulling,
Poking and grasping,
Gasping and teasing, for what?
Because my hair defies the laws of gravity yours
is enslaved to?
Because it’s “exotic” and “different”
Or because I am exotic and different
A breed you’ve never seen
Well let me tell you something
I am not your mere plaything to toy with,
Something to keep your interest intact
As you hold your silver spoon in your opposite hand
I am not the dirt on your floor
To be swept under the rug and forgotten
To forget what has crumbled me and left me on the dark,
Cold ground in the first place
I will never be your hunt every time I walk on the street
Or drive a car
Or speak what I believe to be right
My life is not your toy
My pain and torture is not the butt of your jokes
My rights are not your plaything
My hair is not your playground