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Brown Skin

Umm…brown skin, brown skin, luscious and captivating brown skin, The way you strut on by makes me want to commit and indulge in some past due fornicating. I don’t know you and neither do you I, And yet I see you wondering in curiosity if I would be worth a try. What is it that I have to do to get a minute of your attention? Because the qualities I see that you possess, are causing, me to yearn for your affection. However, knowing that all things on earth is not always good for my health, Has caused me to be hesitant about my interest or even my intent. In regards to the chemistry that you and I will have remarkably seem to spark, Nevertheless, you know the saying; “The light will always reveal secrets done in the dark.” The stakes are too high and the risks are too big, To even encourage your flirtation or undivided attention that I dig. Umm… brown skin, brown skin, luscious and captivating brown skin, Maybe next lifetime, you and I could be doing some adulterated things.

POETRY CORNER

Broken

We stood before God, our family, and friends.

Vowed to commit to each other to sickness and in health.

For better or worse, ‘til death do we part,

We looked each other in the eyes while we etched our vows into our hearts.

Throughout the years we created our own family; one boy and one girl.

She captured your heart while he became my world.

We said that we will be there for them and set the example;

Of how a man should treat a woman and vice a versa in establsihing our mantle.

Of what a strong and dedicated family should be.

I will love you to the end of times and you would never leave.

You would never leave.

You WOULD never leave us because that’s what a man does when he put his family first.

Yet how did I find myself sitting in this broken place, a passenger in our marital hearse.

How foolish was I to believe that our promise would stand the end of time.

So naïve to think that I was your Bonnie and you were my Clyde.

Partners forever in this game of life I would unequivocally lay my life on the line.

That’s how deeply committed I was to us unlike you who was so willing to decline.

Was I not worth the battle?

Little did I suspect that your emotional bags were already packet when your image of me began to unravel.

Was our kids not worth the fight?

You treated us like a disease sucking the life out of you like a deadly parasite.

No more tears will I shed for you.

No more anxiety will the kids go through.

Waiting on the day you leave us for the last time.

Because this time around I KNOW that we WILL be FINE.


MAGA-LIE

Make America Great Again!But for whom was she ever great?Certainly not for non-white ancestors,whose forced labor built this nation’s wealthwithout wages, without restitution, without rest.
They laid brick and blood into her foundation,endured generations of oppression,segregation, silencing, mental, emotional, and physical castration.While the beneficiaries of inherited privilegenow ask us to forgive, forget, and move on.
But forgetting depends on who carries the scars.And the scars are still bleeding.
Make America Great Again!Not again, not ever!If we refuse to confront the pain,the trauma woven into both past and present,choosing instead to recycle the dramaof denial and deflection.
Every time I read the Constitution—“All men are created equal.”“Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.”Those words land as psychological weaponsfor Browns, Blacks, and Yellows.Promises written in inkbut denied in practice.
We were not deemed human,but commodities.To be owned, acquired, and traded.Like animals. Like property.And when no longer useful or entertaining,discarded. Retired. Erased.
So let us try. Truly tryto make America great.By steering the bow of her political, social,and economic destiny toward justice.By serving all peopleand defending the rights of all.
We, the People, are exhaustedby the current state of governance.And if this nation is to survive,it is time to save herfrom her tumultuous fall.

A Soldier's Child From the moment we found out that we were having a child,

We were so excited and happy that we couldn’t contain our delight.

As we waited for your arrival, we prepared your personal room,

Could care less about your gender just as long as your were healthy in my cocoon.

We told everyone of the news via email, text, social network or by phone call,

We even thought to make a public announcement from the unit’s Mess Hall.


Then without notice you made your presence be known,

We spent many hours in labor pushing and groan.

It was love at first sight the moment when we first met,

You were wearing your birth clothes as we spontaneously wept.

At the mere sight of your innocence while in awe of your beauty,

Though short lived were the sentiments because reality spun us back to regular duty.


From early morning formations to long duty hours,

We were always volunteering our time with the unit and not with our sons or daughters.

But never did you complain about the lack of attention,

You were feeling you deserved; you didn’t even mention.

An iota of disgust or resentment to the family’s sacrifice,

Instead it was you who reassured us with your bigger than life advice.


You told us that you understood that the military was our job,

And that you were okay spending time with your Auntie Fay and Uncle Bob.

Though we may have missed several birthdays, school plays and even sporting activities,

Again, you reassured us not to worry because there will be more festivities,

Where we would be able to celebrate together as a family forging new memories.


Though nothing could prepare us for our first separation

You barely a child but you stepped up to the plate without any hesitation.

Sometimes mommy, daddy or both of us would be gone for months at a time,

Leaving you with family or friends to take care of you while we protect the front line.

Never once did we hear you complain or cry about the matter

You informed us that the distance only made you wiser.


Though we were some of the fortunate ones who made it back safely and were able to watch you grow,

From childhood to adulthood unlike many of our coworkers who returned home in a cargo.

So never do we take it for granted of the times spent together,

Because time is precious; promised to no one and all must eventually render.

And so we dedicate this poem to our children; our country’s unsung draftees,

Who loved us unconditional; from our time of enlistees to now retirees.

Love My Color and All That’s Within


What makes your sons, daughters, husbands, wives, mothers, and fathers’ life more valuable than mine?

Is it because of the strong presence of the melatonin of my complexion or is it something else more divine?

You see, from the cosmetic appearance of the rich vibrant shade of my outer layer,

Some may perceive this as a foreign anomaly, unlike theirs, so here comes some player-haters.

However, instantaneously my mind tells me that they truly don’t dislike what they see,

Quite the contrary, through their money, time, and effort spent to enhance their God-given features to look more and more like me.

They inject their butts, lips, and cheeks to carbon copy what God naturally gave me,

While simultaneously depicting images of me as ugly so I can feel inferior and hate the mere reflection that I see.

The wool-like hair that I have is extremely delicate and so it must be handled with the utmost of care,

This is why I wear my hair in cornbraids, twists, Bantu knots and sometimes bring that Afro-flair.

Once again, here come the critics telling me that my hairstyles are too barbaric and needs to be modify through chemical alteration,

Yet when I look in the fashion magazines or watch the latest TV shows and see another race wearing my hairstyles; now the media is buzzing with the trendiest hair sensation!

Let’s not forget my vernacular, how you label it nonsensical and illiterate,

Yet your children’s adaptation of my creative style makes my colloquial vibe, legitimate.

You label the rhythmic manner, in which my body connects with the sound of music as hip-hop or ghetto-fabulous,

Except your children pay money to learn the same moves which gets trended on Twitter as the next rage, IT’S SPECTACULOUS.

See, I’m too confident, too bold, and too in love with how God made ME,

To continually listen to feeble noise in hopes of keeping the mental shackles on; SORRY IT’S TOO LATE; I AM FINALLY SET FREE.

Free from all derogatory insinuations, opinions, and conforming to European tradition,

Now they have changed their warfare tactics from physical to spiritual ammunition.

My relationship with God is what gives me the motivation to continue this life’s walk with divine purpose and authority,

To know that my ancestors were the CHOSEN tribes of Israel and not the minority.

A race of people who should be grateful for the opportunity given to us by them in acquiring this great “American Dream”,

Again, so sorry; the history books which I invested in, tells me otherwise that I am birth out of royal lineage, a CHILD OF THE ORIGINAL QUEEN.


Freedom Isn't Free

I am a realist, rooted in truth,

Not drunk on hope or blinded youth.

Good, bad, or indifferent ;still I stand,

Eyes wide open, heart unmanned.


They tried to sell me silver dreams,

Half-full cups and hopeful schemes.

But I see the glass for what it is,

Because denial kills—truth lives.


I grew on stories, clean and bright,

Where good beat evil, wrong met right.

Fairy tales promised happy ends,

Until ’84 rewrote my lens.


I left my land, my soil, my name,

Became expatriate in the game.

Learned real fast how the world decides

Whose dreams can soar, whose hope just hides.


I worked. I pushed. I broke down doors,

A Joan of Arc in modern wars.

Fought for those who stayed unseen,

Three wise monkeys—quiet, keen.


I played the role, I wore the mask,

Did what society would ask.

Did it well—until I grew

Into a mother, wife, truth too.


Now I carry more than me,

My children’s shield, their guarantee.

My husband’s strength, his steady ground,

Silence now is not allowed.


So I watch corruption, hear the cries,

Speak the truth; no compromise.

Call it heavy, call it fate,

I report what systems calculate.


History whispers: we bend, not break,

They take our labor, fear our wake.

Underpaid, unseen, yet still

We’ve never bowed, we never will.


Freedom’s cost was never fair,

One glance, one name, one shade of skin flares

Alarm bells in the towers high

Of modern chains they won’t deny.


They call it progress, call it peace,

But global grip will never cease.

Genocide dressed corporate clean,

An AI plantation new machine.


I thought once, maybe blend it right,

Dress the same, dim our light.

Act alike, think alike, too

Maybe then they’d let us through.


But spirit can’t be counterfeit,

Truth won’t bend, strength won’t quit.

When comfort calls and morals fight,

We still choose wrong turned into right.


Because we know what’s waiting then,

An accounting beyond all men.

We’ll answer back to sacred soil,

Not for comfort but our toil.


The truth is this, no sugarcoat:

Freedom ain’t free; never wrote

For people like you, people like me,

Quota-locked prosperity.


That’s why we see ourselves on screens

Only when painted as obscene.

Distorted stories, nightly news,

Our only mirror; misused views.


Still we fund what breaks us down,

Buy their brands, defend their crown.

Ignore our blocks, our kids, our worth,

As if we weren’t carved from the same earth.


But hear this clear, engraved in bone:

We are beauty they disown.

Africa’s memory, America’s face,

The world’s sharp truth they can’t erase.


Freedom isn’t free and won’t be

Until we wake mentally.

Step out the lie, reclaim the key,

And break the chains we cannot see.

Shattered

I am not broken the way glass breaks clean, not one sharp sound and silence after. I am broken the way earthquakes work; slow pressure, unseen fault lines, then everything I trusted shifts at once. I wake up inside fragments. Pieces of who I was lie everywhere: confidence on the floor, faith leaning crooked against the wall, hope small enough to lose in my hands. My village shouts be strong, as if strength is not the very thing that collapsed under too much weight. As if surviving did not already cost me everything. I carry myself carefully now. Every thought feels sharp. Every memory cuts differently. I flinch at joy because it reminds me how easily it leaves. Still Even shattered, I exist. Even in pieces, I breathe. There is a strange honesty in ruin: nothing left to pretend, nothing left to hide. I am learning this slowly. Shattered is not the same as gone. Cracked does not mean empty. Sometimes light only enters where the break finally happened. And maybe one day I won’t gather the pieces to rebuild the old version of me, but to create someone truer; scarred, quieter yet still standing.