The reality of our world in the eyes of most whites would be one of violence while we are painted as evil beast. Often the reality of the mantle we are forced to wear haunts me to no end, regardless if I fight that image, it’s there. And I am still trying to prove I am worthy as I trudge through life in a white run world.Sadly the shackles remain even in this modern age of emancipation. Then comes the anger as I sit and listen to black folks scream they are left out as if that’s something new. Hell we been left out since they stole us from the mother land. So when I listen to the anger in me and watch the anger that is in all of us except Stacey Dash I think how can you not be. We still bear the scars of our brothers as free men burdened with the anger that will never disappear. So came this poem
Should I
Eyes blind to the pain I feel,
and the anger in my words.
Truths you’ve never listened to,
since you set me free.
Where should I begin,
the years the pain to long,
was it all a dream.
But my scars tell me that ain’t so,
my scars around my legs from shackles,
you wish to forget.
But the scars,
they scream to me each painful step I take.
The scars that dance cross my back,
like branches on a tree,
thick long and filled with roots,
that’s dug deep into my brain.
Each lash, a lessons I would learn you said,
as blood ran down my back.
Each time I ran away,
your whip reminded me, why I’d run again.
Names you call me filled with hate,
sting my ears long after you set me free.
How can I forget the pain you’ve thrust on me,
inhuman was your ire on me.
And now I watch you turn your back,
on what evil you have done.
Shameless beast without a heart,
you treat your dogs better.
Should I forget?
Should I forget?
Should I forget.
My scars,
they call to me each night,
reminding me of all you did,
to all who walked before me.
No I shall not let them die in vain,
while you turn your back on all you’ve done.
No you’ve never raised a whip on me,
or called me ugly names.
No need, the scars are deep, they still remain.
I’ve lived with the pain you’ve left in our brains, as you still
whip us like your slaves.
Exclude us from the world we share,
as if it was only yours.
You’ve cast a shadow over us,
for all the world to hate us.
Should I forget?
Should I forget?
Should I forget the scars I wear from your whip,
while you turn your back on me.
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