cuetbruin
12-31-2004, 09:11 PM
I’m delirious about how mysterious it seems to be. A black man on the street corner, playing the horn to the beat that only he knows, flowing from the pit of his soul to the soles of your feet. Not because he’s afraid to look up, but because he’s sick of seeing hate.
I’m serious about how ridiculous it seems to be. A black man in white society. Everybody wants to be you, but no one wants to see you. Shouting loudly I’m Black and I’m Proud! Through the way that you walk, to the way that you talk; from the poetry that you project from your soul, to the words that flow from your heart—Wait; it isn’t poetry, it’s floetry.
Speaking the history of the misery that you’ve seen with your own eyes, touched with your own hands, and experienced through your own life. Telling the tales of police brutality and the time that you spent the night in jail because you lost your car keys and the police thought you were the man six feet tall, dark, and—sssh! But, I’m only talking about!!
When will it end?
The sad tune protruding from the horn?
The sorrowful tales of the Black Man’s norm?
The hypocrisy of a society based upon the misery of a people,
Of a culture,
Of it’s equal?
Never mind
I don’t want to stress the waters that white jesus walked on—oops!
Too late, because Peter just fell in. . .
I’m serious about how ridiculous it seems to be. A black man in white society. Everybody wants to be you, but no one wants to see you. Shouting loudly I’m Black and I’m Proud! Through the way that you walk, to the way that you talk; from the poetry that you project from your soul, to the words that flow from your heart—Wait; it isn’t poetry, it’s floetry.
Speaking the history of the misery that you’ve seen with your own eyes, touched with your own hands, and experienced through your own life. Telling the tales of police brutality and the time that you spent the night in jail because you lost your car keys and the police thought you were the man six feet tall, dark, and—sssh! But, I’m only talking about!!
When will it end?
The sad tune protruding from the horn?
The sorrowful tales of the Black Man’s norm?
The hypocrisy of a society based upon the misery of a people,
Of a culture,
Of it’s equal?
Never mind
I don’t want to stress the waters that white jesus walked on—oops!
Too late, because Peter just fell in. . .