It is a poem on the African American Identity Crisis that no one seems to know is going on |
We wage wars on ourselves like Rwanda And create watered down versions of ourselves cause we hate black Pretending to be black but cant eat or sleep black Because being everything but black is acceptable To us black is just a fad A cute saying in response to friends But do we really know what black is? Were a generation of Wesley Snipes Bamboozled children Children that hate black Cause the history of Mali is never spoken And Egypt isn’t even in the same continent So we’d rather be black for just a short moment then mix with a lighter race when its no longer convenient Is that black? NO! Protesters in the 60’s and 70’s knew black Mr. X himself knew black Our Last Poets knew black Sista souljah knew black But we don’t know a damn thing So where does that leave us black? A generation of people that don’t know black and hate themselves Self hatred rooted so deep it eats away at our souls and we don’t even know it With a prison mentality we can’t escape the box The box of the projects and ghettos Of street corners and crack houses Gangstas and niggas Gangs and killings The spilling of black blood never thought twice of Just another news headline, another black face across our TV screen Please tell me is that what black is? Baby mamas' not wives kneeling in defeat and dispare Clutching on to their lost seed on a dirty street corner Hands shaking, body weak Her mentality wasn’t strong enough to raise that child Too busy in the streets running wild she was worried about man after man but not worried enough about the one growing in her household So she kneels and cries Cause another lost soul took her child Another black boy killing another black boy He didn’t know the barrel of his gun was staring at black when he fired that shot Hate from his heart consumed him, cause he couldn’t help but be black A black he hated and wished to go away Instead of seeing the beauty of black Kings and queens black Black that goes back for centuries Past the cotton fields and the big house Past the slave ships and slave whips Past the ghettos and projects The self hatred and the destruction of our own That’s where black is Will we ever find it? |