We shouldn't give our energy to the products of enslavement ...
A noble thought, but how to navigate
When all we were given was weapons
To make our way in the world?
The slingshot that brings the water,
The shroud that keeps flies away ...
We can't even see that words are bullets
Forever asking us to step out of the way ...
What is to be done
When it turns out R&B preceded slavery,
As the reason for it to exist?
The music stolen with each sunrise
Became something roaring and new each night,
And the end game became to be cool,
To not react to the shackles,
For the system had become familiar enough,
Your tattoo was how you endured it.
What will the new earth make of these tools
That appeal to no apparent God,
But to how you did because you could
(The power in chattel),
The rest of your tribe across the seas,
Their thoughts, on the waves, an imposition,
Another reason to get away
As you wait for a word from the mansion
That your survival is admired,
After all the ways they played that you were dead.
