I’m stained with secrets
slowly burning with heat of sunrise
My heart lives there
between the echoed footsteps of goodbyes
My lips spill time uncontrollably
my tongue is chasing seconds
That pass memories in the dark
I’m filled with Faith
Raging with the joy of Resurrection
my soul lives here
Inside the tears of trials and triumphs
My voice carries a message that is everlasting
It is unconditional, it is love
For Black History Month I thought I would share something I wrote as a teen, that entails my experiences…
So is this really my culture to bear,
just because I am the only black man in the room – does not
make me a shadow.
My voice sounds like a whip
my walk is an echo of every march to unify our Nation
my tears are rivers that lead from captivity to equality
and when you see me –
I am still just a wish never dreamed of
a thunderstorm you long to drive through
yet safety is found under black roof tops that shelter you from
So I stand in every room
Cracking my whip across misled perceptions
because being black is not a conception to be used to be
it means the scars that have been covered by progress
are not to be forgotten
the sting of once open wounds has not dissipated
Within our hearts we relieve the triumph of everyone who
spoke and died for us
So this whip I swing back and pray you feel it snap across your conscious. That being alive, is being human
that is what we are all struggling to be,
So I cried last night, loudly in the quietness of my own arms. I embraced my quivering hands within eachother and found solace in prayer.
I laughed so hard that my voice cut out, my breath ran for cover and left me smiling in silence. I hunched over and saw my reflection, my lost youthfulness peeking through the gleam in my eyes.
I hurt so much today, my soul cries out and is answered with blaring muteness of daylight in a crowded room. Talking to me, its missed. The tear in my heart, and it bleeds out.
Euphoria is surrounding me, it blares it’s beauty from my touch. Calling forth that wholeness that satisfies the spirit. Dancing in this empty room, I am surrounded by those that hear me. Deafened by the music that pounds it’s hypnotic rhythm through every molecule in the air, lost in a moment of muffled joy.
My breath, my chest, they ache for more time. My lips part and spill forth distant pleas for continuation. Sight fades as I begin to give in to this quiet fight. I feel that soft plush cushion of the carpet below me, supporting me in my weakest hour. And I blink slowly, realizing that this dust that falls around me, this hazy afternoon light that nestles me in for one last smile. Is all that will remember me.
Here, in this room, where I first cried.
That quiet jubilation and sadness that accompanied me in life, awaits me in slumber.