DAY 28...Do not Forget

WE MUST NOT FORGET The actual number of men, women and children who were snatched from their homes in Africa and transported in slave ships across the Atlantic, either to the Caribbean islands or to North and South America, will never be known. Writers vary in their estimates, but there is no doubt that their number runs into millions. The following figures are taken from Morel's calculations as reproduced by Professor Melville J. Herskovits and cover the period 1666-1800: 1666-1776: Slaves imported only by the English for the English, French and Spanish colonies: 3 million (250,000 died on the voyage). 1680-1786: Slaves imported for the English colonies in America: 2,130,000 (Jamaica alone absorbed 610,000). 1716-1756: Average annual number of slaves imported for the American colonies: 70,000, with a total of 3.5 million. 1752-1762: Jamaica alone imported 711,115 slaves. 1759-1762: Guadeloupe alone imported 40,000 slaves. 1776-1800: A yearly average of 74,000 slaves were imported for the American colonies, or a total of 1,850,000; this yearly average was divided up as follows: by the English, 38,000; French, 20,000; Portuguese, 10,000; Dutch, 4,000; Danes, 2,000. The above paragraph and statistics are excerpted from the following article by Jose Luciano Franco: "The Slave Trade in the Caribbean and Latin America." in The African Slave Trade from the Fifteenth to the Nineteenth CenturyReports and papers of the meeting of experts organized by Unesco at Port-au-Prince, Haiti, 31 January to 4 February 1978 We must not forget that we did not want to come here. We are not from here...not really. We are not rooted properly and it has been difficult to lay down foundations on the shifting uncertainties of life in America. The genocidal rampage of the psychopathic madman hitler (whose name we will not capitalize, because he was never human: more animal than ever was man...possessed by devils and driven by delusions and followed by a nation of sociopaths), is avidly remembered and we are reminded of it often and well we should. Such a blight on human history is to be remembered. The more recent rampages in Rwanda, The Congo and other parts of the African continent not so well remembered;  probably due to the fact that not as much precious blood was shed, not to those who usually speak for the remembered anyway.  Sometimes it comes in me suddenly without warning a dark anger that wells up from some primal well kept capped by a spiritual cork. It is atomic in its intensity and I must go to quiet, for only there can I humbly deliver my wounded self to the altar and ask for the will to go on. He calls me to forgive, to harken to my destiny to follow, trust and obey. I have not chosen an easy way, and if this is the way to freedom, then I will continue to listen to Truth. DESTINY It is on a quest that we are called a path lighted by an outer eye that see's the all and knows the end It is a quilt that we are stitching with colored threads of different hue which Atropos will cut one day without a clue My way is clear the path is narrow twisted and uneven in another's wake and sometimes I fear  I am lost and alone and will not get home But the joy of the journey is mine to know the end of the road a dimly seen far distant place that forks into another time another space...

DAY 27..NATURAL THINGS

Sometimes just the saying is enough...

NATURAL THINGS

to search the path of simple lines
that runs in single convergent strands
to know that way leads unto way
and we are held by immortal hands

to understand the elemental base
the linkage of earth, air, fire and sea
that animal man has stepped from grace
and now proclaims that he is free

Of natural things I am unsure
for nought around seems quite innate
we are often not what we show
and are shaped by gods of power, love and hate.

Nature: The Mother Potentate
who rules through systems of balanced might
is often turned from her ordered state
by us in our quest for eternal sight

in this twisted maelstrom called life
of pariah angels and fallen man
truth is relative
and love is a word
and the solid rock is on sinking sand
 

DAY 26...Hidden

HIDDEN

Veiled wonder of my potent vision
Machinations of my upper room
Whispered longing of my inner sanctum
Remembered allure of a past perfume

At the sunrise
Slow the dawning
Obscure presence of a missing bone
Restful wakings
warmth encumbered
Reaching for the next alone

In the noonday
Heat unwavered
My moisture trickles in single strands
Running slowly
pooling hotly
Trying to break the cooling bands

Come the night-time
Black and starry
Dreams unleashed to haunt my sleep
Shadowed stranger
mystic caller
Persona woos from fathoms deep

Veiled wonder of my fickle fancy
Machinations of my pilot room
Calling me to find the linkage
To tie the knot before the tomb. 

DAY 25..Thanksgiving

CHANGO

THANKS FOR THE DIFFERENCE

Thank You, who made it light then dark
and created black to show a spark;

And made music, air, and silk
and nipples that can sprout out milk.

And sweaty smells, and salt, and heat
and computer games, and nice small feet.

And cheesecake with strawberry glaze
and laughter, and the blues, and a mental maze.

But thanks most of all for dreams and hope
So that my navel, my hair, and my skin can cope. 

DAY 24...The Search

SOMEONE

Simply put 

we search the maze 

of life's deep trenches 

for a heart. 

A heart alike 

a heart apart. 

One that 

flutters 

murmurs 

pounds and stutters, 

catalyst 

for our chemistry

the errant spark 

light our dark. 

a touch 

to remember 

a cold December 

a smile now gone 

from lips still warm. 

Noble heat 

to nurture dreams 

a place to grow 

rooted and strong 

and write 

entwined destiny's 

song 

a search that fuels 

our every want 

a heart alike 

a heart apart. 

DAY 23...Remember the good times!

Sometimes it is hard to remember that in the midst of all the horrific things that were done to us of the diaspora we survived, and became better and God helped us to find a way where their was no way...so we go on and go up and refuse to give up or live in silent graves...

So today and for the remainder of the days I am celebrating our greatness and the 

wonder of it all that we are still here...

SOULMATE

In this land of the purple twilight
 eyes entrance;
 lips enthrall.
Where spells of potent magic
Cause all men
to quickly fall.

In this house of wistful longings
A look can cause
new hope to flare.
Palpitating heart a quaking
Love's music soothe's
my mounting fear.

In this heart of sweet surrender
I pine for just
a glimpse of you.
Dreams cannot my spirit nourish
Your heart is cold
your love untrue.

Then  slowly  now discerning
Comprehension
dawning clear
fire, this unwanted burning
Consumes my soul
for you are near.

 you are my destined SOULMATE
My  fire, my love, 

my ice, my hate.

I am waiting for love to come rescue me...

Oleta Adams

DAY 22...A Lament

A LAMENT

I don't have a name
Who saw me?
Then knew me?
Watched in my steps
away
the hope to be
In my stooped back
and gnarled hands
purpose for being
not living though
here come
here stay
merely going along
the worn and wearied way
picking the cotton
cleaning the house
the big house on the hill
with its darkened pulse

Who looked?
when i went by
and saw in slide
of liquid sun
down black marbled slabs
of muscle at work
no pay or reward
to gain
just labor
for them that
stand easy in plantation shade
as soiled roots
bore strange fruit
and mother's pride
in blood was steeped

Who wept?
when i slid down
into the dusty depths
and lay
as one asleep in the sun
after a weary day

Who sang?
A mournful dirge
to acknowledge my passage
here
on the other side
from diaspora way
where no drums called
or mother cried
or crashing waves
bore me in rocking tempo
to the swaying memory
of my grandmothers hips...

Who laid flowers?
to show that I was
brought colored lights
red and blue
yellow and white
to grow where I lie
for as slave I live
As man I die.

Nina's rendition of this song is evocative...she calls it an ugly song and it is truly ugly, but a necessary image to keep. So we do not forget that we are not too far removed either by time or space from this sordid truth.

Strange Fruit...

DAY 21...Hands to the plow always...

You are the Potter I am the clay!

HANDS

The rock on which I stand
is solid
built by soft mulatto hands

strong supple hands
that knead the bread
and tie the knots
and smooth the hair

and stir the air

hands raised up 

to sky's above 

give praise

give thanks

and dance their groove
spread out fingers
in easy love

hands that clasp

in earnest heat
at stones stands
while all weep

hands that paint my moods
arousing
the ire of my blood

imploring

hands that cradle 

my delicate need
for peace
to be known

as real.  

Fix Me Jesus...Revelations from Alvin Ailey...

DAY 20...Torn in two

I am a slave...to my past
Since men have always being greedy
and remain greedy still
I am now a slave to my present.
I am at war for my freedom and
like Bob Marley encourages
I must find my Redemption Song
and Sing it!

A TORTURED SLAVE (circa 1890 / A TORTURED MAN (circa 2008)

(don't be deceived ...There is no new thing under the sun)

TORN AND TWISTED

To have my being,
actualized,
pensive always

In potent passions.

Bittersweet taste
In action,

Still..
Ambivalent choices

calling

will...

The one within
wants without
In depth of mind

Clouded with doubt

cravings shout
but light restrains
and pain remains

fires burn

and cracks appear

the facade

is in disrepair.

How did this come
into being?

How was I
found at the scene?

In blood and sweat,
and tears and slime,

I was thrust forth
to this life of crime.
 

I got the part
"I want to be ..."

Practiced day
and night 'til three.

Till I knew it well
then I was told

You have too much heat
This part is cold.

My agent

found me

a brand new part
but we

are yet in conflict

He wants God
I want man
Torn in two

and twisted.

DAY 19...The Journey: The Second Coming

INSTIGATING EVENT...

A FLARE_UP...

NOW, HERE WE ARE...

The Journey

From Africa to South Central or Gibnut Street, Belize City

This is how we came!

The Second Coming

I was a ‘crack’ baby

Born after six and a half months

3 lbs 10 ounces

My mother was high

Two days after my birth

I never tasted her milk

I was too busy

Going through withdrawal

On my birthday...

I never knew my father

Some nameless, faceless

Bringer of death

To my hungry mother

My grandmother raised me

She was tired

Tried and tried

She gave up on me

He turned away from me

And I learned to live free

Free of a conscience

Or of an interest in life

I gave in to the call

To the seething angry clamor of me

And I dressed for the part

And my hand spat fire

And a red river flowed wherever I went

Like Moses made the river red

I am a mad, bad

Interminably sad

Black Sambo

Ready to implode

And scatter my guts and dreams

All over this land

I am…

Right beside you.

You can't ask for forgiveness...while it is mine to give and I may choose to give it freely I can't forget. We are not okay. I do not trust you. I am not your friend. We will exist from here in a disquieting truce. A silence burdened with the promise of unresolved things. Things while unmentioned are equally apparent. The elephant in the room that is always present, about which we cannot speak.

DAY 18...The Journey:Our Civil Rights

The Journey

From Africa to South Central or Gibnut Street, Belize City

This is how we came!

Our Civil Rights

I was murdered

But like my brother says

What’s a cup of water

Taken from the mighty river

I hated that we were beaten down

But I was fierce in my pride…

Made to feel less

But I would not stand for it…

And I was willing to die for it.

And I did!

He shot me in the back

Coward that he was

But you can kill my body

My spirit lives on

My work will continue

In the hearts of my brothers and sisters

In the tears of my family

Writing liquid tracks

Down parchment faces

Etched with the truth of our days

And the pain of our nights

I was Medgar

But I live on…

Ella Wheeler Wilcox said...

There is no chance, no destiny, no fate,
     Can circumvent or hinder or control
     The firm resolve of a determined soul.
Gifts count for nothing; will alone is great;
All things give way before it, soon or late.
     What obstacle can stay the mighty force
     Of the sea-seeking river in its course,
Or cause the ascending orb of day to wait?
Each well-born soul must win what it deserves.
Let the fool prate of luck. The fortunate
     Is he whose earnest purpose never swerves,
     Whose slightest action or inaction serves
The one great aim. Why, even Death stands still,
And waits an hour sometimes for such a will.

DAY 17...The Journey: Arrival

The Journey

From Africa to South Central or Gibnut Street, Belize City

This is how we came!

Arrival

I was like a hot brand

Amid dried bush

My words burned everything they touched

Anger from my brothers

Hate from my masters

We sailed in on a gilded sheet

Smooth endless seas

We were washed in the salt from the sea

Glistened with the fat of pigs

And exchanged for gold

In my bowed head there was submission

But in my heart I stored rebellion

I am Nkule

Slavery

We were herded off the ship

Linked to each other by iron shackles

Forged with links of bitterness, anger

Resentment and hate

We saw the sun and

Did not feel its warmth

We were poked and prodded

And finally sold

Sold for our strength

Sold for our beauty

Sold for being different.

We planted cotton,

Sugarcane, felled logwood

Ate the crust of the bread

The skin from meat

And the guts of swine

We were slaves…

And we cried to be free

We were

Kunta, Shaka,Alunda

Ulele, Beriunga, and Keva

Later called…

Bobo, Sally and Mary Sue

An old man Ebednigo.

DAY 16...The Journey: The Middle Passage

The Journey

From Africa to South Central or Gibnut Street, Belize City

This is how we came!

The Middle Passage

I was daughter

The second child of a third wife

With little to offer and nowhere to go

I was taken from the Ibo people

From the edges of the empire

The fifth moon of my thirteenth summer

Spent 4 sunless days in a box of stone

Somewhere on the western shores

Then 114 sunrises on a sea house

Sick and starved

Beaten and abused

My father died

My brother was beaten and hung on the cross

By his neck

Milawe jumped overboard

Many more were lost

On the Caliente’s voyage

I survived to survive

I am Magwe 

DAY 15...The Journey: The Beginning of the Middle Passage

The Journey

From Africa to South Central or Gibnut Street, Belize City

This is how we came!

Africa

I was brought up in my father’s tent

In the warm equatorial nights

I learned at my nana’a knees

She knew all the words

That were laid by those that went before

I was a child of the tribe

I had summers of endless sun

When I would run with the wildebeest

Wrestle with Lion cubs

And do the dance of the gazelle

From this my childhood home

I was captured by the Asonde tribe

Who had fire sticks

Passed on to many masters and

Ended up in a slave ship…

I am Kunanbu Dae (A lost one).

DAY 14...I am being molded

HANDS

The rock on which I stand
is solid
built by soft mulatto hands
strong supple hands
that knead the bread
and tie the knots
and smooth the hair
hands raised up to sky above
and spread out fingers in easy love
hands that clasp in earnest heat
at stones stands
while all weep
hands that paint
my mood arousing
the ire of my groove
hands that cradle
my delicate need
for peace
to be known
as real.

DAY 13...Black Butterfly

BLACK BUTTERFLY

Ebonaceae, shimmery wing tips
slicing light
prismatic glimpses coming, going
that shows a path to the heights
an upward spiral

As you move sweet butterfly
I can follow by the music
of your flight song
the sweet bluesy medley
the hauntingly clear echo
of your earnest trial
to reach

Then there is the snap
a crescendoing clash
and like lucifer
plunging after the fall
with wings folded
as if in prayer
you spiral downward
and settle softly
to the ground
like thistledown

Sing Nina please
about going back home
and being free
and being released
sing for my
sweet
black
butterfly.

DAY 12...Transformation

This might be what I started as, but make no mistake this is not how I am living, nor is how I will end.


TRANSFORMATION

We begin as a rough
and will end as a gem
but between rough and gem
are
chippings
crushings
sanding
reshaping
firing
fitting
we don't always understand
appreciate
or want
the process
we may think it unfair
wonder why and question God
He allows it
He orchestrated it
I am fearfully
and wonderfully made
Made for this
to start as this
to go through this
I cannot see the end
we look toward the end
 and we cannot see it
and wish to be somewhere
in between
after rough
and before gem
right after beginning and
long before middle
So when the storm is raging
and chips begin to fly
from you fine ass form
from the brutality of the Process
and blinds your bestfriend
or cuts your sister under the eye
just remember
the gem He sees
in His hand
is already perfected
awaiting placement
in a finished band.

DAY 11...Hope

I cannot imagine what it must have been like...

We were herded off the boat in pairs, like animals been led from the ark, except this wasn't the promise land, at least not the land of our promise. After many moons on the floating box, with the rank odor of our fetid stink that could not mask the putrid funk of the barbarians that held us captive, we were grateful for land. They spoke in guttural barks and screeching snaps and I am sure they considered themselves civilized, but I could tell that most of them were unlearned. They lacked any of the accouterments of true breeding and carried themselves as brutish louts, with little understanding of true civility. As I stood in the sun and watched them knowing they thought me less, I thought them poor. As a leader of the tribe I was gifted with the insight into the souls of men and these people as they paraded around in their layers of cloth and overpowering perfume carried a darkness in them more malevolent than any seen before. Could it be that simply the color of their skin weakened the caliber of their mind?  How else could one explain the horrific foreboding that assailed me as I stood on the cusp of coming storm. Nevertheless, I knew that they would be surprised by the outcome, thinking us weak we would prove indomitable. Thinking us less we would prove more. Beating us down we would arise as ebony stars to guide a lightless world.

I actually can imagine what is was...but they could not have imagined the outcome!

HOPE

Hope is
the faint glimmer of sight
the promise of light
of revelation
of open understanding
of truth
behind clouds hidden now
but later revealed
It is not a know
or an actual drop
no water in the desert
it is the distant mist
a hint of moisture
where none exist
a longed for sight
now real
now true
I can touch you
I can feel you
I am
You are.


I love this clip from the Shawshank Redemption...no infringement of copyright intended.
HOPE...

DAY 10...Thoughts

Some people might say I think too much. It is the way I was fearfully and wonderfully made. When I think about the fact that I was made in His image:

One of my favorite Psalm, I have been meditating on this lately. It is giving me hope and challenging me to be more like Him.

Psalm 139

For the director of music. Of David. A psalm.

 ¹ You have searched me, LORD,
   and you know me.
² You know when I sit and when I rise;
   you perceive my thoughts from afar.
³ You discern my going out and my lying down;
   you are familiar with all my ways.
⁴ Before a word is on my tongue
   you, LORD, know it completely.
⁵ You hem me in behind and before,
   and you lay your hand upon me.
⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
   too lofty for me to attain.

 ⁷ Where can I go from your Spirit?
   Where can I flee from your presence?
⁸ If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
   if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
⁹ If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
   if I settle on the far side of the sea,
¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,
   your right hand will hold me fast.
¹¹ If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
   and the light become night around me,”
¹² even the darkness will not be dark to you;
   the night will shine like the day,
   for darkness is as light to you.

 ¹³ For you created my inmost being;
   you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
   your works are wonderful,
   I know that full well.
¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you
   when I was made in the secret place,
   when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.
¹⁶ Your eyes saw my unformed body;
   all the days ordained for me were written in your book
   before one of them came to be.
¹⁷ How precious to me are your thoughts,^[a] God!
   How vast is the sum of them!
¹⁸ Were I to count them,
   they would outnumber the grains of sand—
   when I awake, I am still with you.

 ¹⁹ If only you, God, would slay the wicked!
   Away from me, you who are bloodthirsty!
²⁰ They speak of you with evil intent;
   your adversaries misuse your name.
²¹ Do I not hate those who hate you, LORD,
   and abhor those who are in rebellion against you?
²² I have nothing but hatred for them;
   I count them my enemies.
²³ Search me, God, and know my heart;
   test me and know my anxious thoughts.
²⁴ See if there is any offensive way in me,
   and lead me in the way everlasting.

MEDITATION

My meditation has been dark 

buried beneath layers of 

unsaid things and decorum

buried beneath years of 

unrelenting longing

burnt into my skin

by th heat of my own

silent introspection

my dark musing carry beneath them

the promise of hope

the hope of 

bringing those things not seen

into being.

DAY 9...If you can

I can't spend my time worrying about what people think...besides I can't stand most people anyway.
So bring it...

I love this image of indomitable longevity. This couple seems to have been sitting on those same weathered steps for a thousand years...looking as life; all kinds of life passed them by without so much as twitch.

REBEL

If  you are never able

to stand up

to the bullies around you

and say
NO

when you should,
stand when you can,
and run

when you know

you can't fight.

Don't think 

that you are being brave
That is the ordinary way
That bandwagon stand,
Come; act like a man
Your standard erect 

and unfurled.

Try  sticking to your own bazooka
or  bb gun, whatever it may be.
Fear if you must
But hold to the truth
And you'll find in the dark

you can see.

In striving to reach to the top
Everyone wants to succeed.
But success cost dearly
So work hard,

live fairly
And don't trample on men in your greed.

Rebels are set for a time
And the cost of true freedom

is high.
It will cost you your gold
your opinion,

your pride,
And eventually

you must lay down

and die.

This is how Tupac says it...Pain

DAY 8...PAIN

You need to have a personal relationship with...

PAIN

You can only know the true joy of the mountain top when you have been to the valley low.

PAIN

My One true love
My unerring friend
Who never lies or pretends
to overstand
to know
to comprehend

but merely comes
and holds in steely bands
and crush and pinch
in ice cold hands
and gives me life
and purges and cleans
and releases me
to live again

My companion constant
who stabs the truth
in sweet soft flesh
and tears life apart 

to the root
and slices through
like a common brute
who beats to pulp
my foolish heart
and calls my attention
with poison darts

I know you are here
and I know you Care. 

DAY 7...Sometimes all I have is my...

Sometimes all I have is my....Fill it in.
For the next three days I will talk about the underlying
anger that drives a lot of us of the diaspora...my anger
I will own it, because only in owning it can I hope to control,
and finally overcome it.

Sometimes all I have is my ANGER!

RAGE

Rage against the night
this dark that stalks my fertile soil
That blithe and warps the budding fruit
and causes it to whither in youth.
Cry out against the subtle dark
that seeps relentlessly inside
and stifles the light,
and strangles hope
and stabs a dream
and pushes dope
It causes us to sleep in our piss,
Lie in our puke,
eat, shit, and die.
It makes us sit in the rocking chair of despair
on the veranda of want
and complain to empty heads
as the Independence parade passes by.
So, who will stand
and who will fight

Open your eyes
and fight the night
Hands to the plow
push with might
Rage, in violent savage waves
and refuse to live in silent graves. 

Sometimes all I have is my anger, 
but I am also searching for my place.
I know this is my time and I am making my way to joy.
I refuse to have my dream deferred.


Thanks for reminding me Langston!

DAY 6...A dedication to life

A DEDICATION TO LIFE

This is to all Those 

(nameless, faceless ones from hungry nations) 

who in your inestimable avarice 

uprooted us, 

uprooted us from the mother 

and transported 

our exotic

our strength 

and indomitability 

across the vast expanses of the ocean 

in filty, crowded ships of death. 

Where we withered and pined 

and bled and died 

and accepted our fate 

and recovered 

and grew stronger, 

and walked in the sun, 

and worked in the sun 

sweat gleaming on our ebony skin, 

smelling like a giant armpit, 

living in our waste, 

bathed by salt water, 

our skins getting tough, calloused, 

our souls bleeding, 

our spirits fighting 

to remain free 

to remain whole.

This is to my baymen forefathers; 

Richards, Flowers,Youngs, 

Wagners, Goff, McCoullough, 

who ate the good of the land 

and left nothing in return 

Whose legacy is bitterness 

and hatred 

Prejudice and strife 

self-abnegation and mental bondage, 

who tore apart my families, 

and scattered us to the four winds, 

who gave me Jesus Christ: a cross and a gun

and destroyed my culture, 

who cursed my skin color, 

despised my physical capabilities, 

profited from my adaptability 

and usurped my soveriegnity, 

destryoed my individuality 

corrupted my spirituality 

warped my sexuality 

steeped me in depravity 

and left me in poverty. 

 

This is for my great- 

6 greats removed-grand father 

Imago Bodigunie Abagario Obu (John Smith) 

who did what he knew best to do 

who fought a battle of the wills 

whose skin was white 

whose soul was black, 

who owned slaves, 

a slave himself 

who made a nation 

who gave me a heritage 

who brought me here 

to be who i am today; 

To accomplish my destiny 

to be a voice, two arms 

Two legs, a dick and a mind, 

have a conscience, and a spirit, 

to be strong, to have purpose 

To not live his life, 

but to live mine. 

 

This is for the Resistance 

for my brothers in the 

North, South, East, and West. 

In Georgia, and Alabama, 

In Tennessee and Louisianna 

In Rio de Jinero and Belo Horizonte 

In Jamaica and Cuba 

and Grenada and Antigua, 

In Costa Rica and Honduras, 

In Nicaragua and Panama 

In Soweto and Jo'burg, 

Who stood up then, 

Who stand up now 

Who REFUSE to be Pawns any longer, 

Who ARE strong in their beliefs, 

Firm in their resolve 

Radicals for the cause 

Sold on their convictions

     of their rights; 

     to be big, 

     black 

     badass mutha's 

 

This is for my angry 

little brothers and sisters 

who roam the streets of our lands, 

rebellious and mad as hell is hot, 

who do not esteem life 

who have no sacred creed, 

without vision or direction. 

A generation of Bastards, 

Fighters, Haters, beaters, 

Shooters, Crazies, Lazies, 

Hopeless Daisies, 

Defiant, Unreliant, 

Complacent, 

Unproductive, Destructive, 

Mad, Bad, youth. 

 

These who are a product of 

Tar baby 

the X-Factor, 

White Right 

The Resistance, 

and (In) Times Like These. 

 

To all of you I give thanks. 

For you have made me what I am, 

Who I am, 

Your bad and your good, 

Your productive and destructive, 

African, European, White, Black, 

Carib, Indian, 

All a part of the mix 

I am whole now, 

I am complete, 

I am a man 

I am a woman, 

I am a boy 

I am a girl, 

I AM BLACK.