Just something I wanted to post... get some feedback on. :)
One Drop
We are here to put to rest
the Millennials’ Imagination.
Convenience was cyanide
A dash of Suri, a
gulp of Google,
But Shock Value is the true culprit
Of Individuality’s demise
Like Electronic Cigs,
Temporary Tatts.
Paper towel implants,
Or when you kiss a
girl
and you like it
but its just
experimental... human nature,
And You hope your
boyfriend don’t mind it.
Everything is cool,
As long as that tan fades.
I grew up in a tree house
The rich people’s version of roughing it
because it was a whole,
yes a whole ten minutes away
from four michilin star restaurants.
With time, I’d learn
A black friend is an affluent white person’s pardon
To forgo the belt
And wear
LOW
RI
DER
Boutique skinny jeans
And Wide brimmed hats
meticulously turned to a 45degree angle.
in Channel and Tiffany tear drop diamonds
and glided in Louboutins
like they were my light
up Barbie sneaks
I was unable to read the subtext beneath
“ Are you good at hip hop dancing?” or
“Do you go to Sunday school?”
Well, the only pole was on my four-poster,
and I’m like every other daughter,
I only talk to my Father when I need something…
But back then Black
was only the name of one of my crayons.
I didn’t know then
that the redwood
trees we were surrounded by
Were future kindling for affluence’s arson
Using Jackson’s for lighters
for a shiny new Apple,
Gucci, William-Sonoma
No idea that that, we, as a society,
dismember great oaks
Immure their remains together
Roll them up
Seal them in a machine
Rip them off
Just So they can shove them in pockets
Later dispose their wrinkled corpses
from their designer
purses
But the numbers become infused on our hands
Because a store’s slip of paper is a black person’s pardon.
When they see us
Silences are shouting at each other
Eyes are quaking in a skull
Power is written on a full-length body mirror
Lights got to SMACK it
For it to be seen
And even then it’s spelled backwards
Like natives shoved into pockets of San Jose’s skid row
Ripped off educations,
Sealed in minimum wage machines
Rolled up futures
Wanting our wrinkled corpses to be disposed
They put a suicide factory on every corner
Some of us shower in Liquid Amber
Smell like a gas station bathroom
Poverty’s arson is sparked by lit Marlboro’s
Spreading…
Until they immure our remains in a overcrowded cemetery
White noise approaches
Chatter like wine glasses clinking—
But when they see me
Silences interrupt—
Shouting at each other
Eyes are quaking in a skull
Designed lips purse
Pearl Luxe&Lush nails caress Lincoln’s face
Disposing of him
by tossing him into my full coffee cup
Scooping Abe out to dry…
We’re both cringing…
I go back to studying for finals…
Numbers become infused on my hands
Because a university’s slip of paper is a black person’s
pardon
These numbers infused on our hands
are the days
Since we learned subtext,
At seven or eight,
When our parents told us,
“ Honey we have something to tell you…”
That Concrete will never be their bed,
Doorway their pillow,
Stars their roof,
Haunts some of us…
So we end up remaining
In an overcrowded
cemetery
Naïve ones with heavy pockets
Slowly reach--
Now their heads are leaking
Leaving silences in mid argument
Brains suffering aftershocks--
Isn’t a piece of paper
supposed to be a black person’s pardon?
Power is written on a full-length body mirror
The light’s got to SMACK it
For it to be seen
And even then it’s spelled backwards
Like take a cup of milk and add one drop of chocolate
You’d call it milk…
But you take a person,
And one drop of black
always defines
them…
