The idea is to travel throughout the race riots
from 1866 to the present time
a speedy dicaptation
by time, musk and thickness
sacrificing blood for hate
making it to the front line with ease
like how mamma made biscuits outa nothing,
all while having a dope needle in her arm.
The blueprint provided by a black cemetery
of hopeful dead rattling their coffins with cheer.
A new type of happiness
a black happiness
that's filled with grief.
somehow ending up at the portal in time
with just your torso nothing else
no mind just the innate wiring, of your dna,
the processes of your chromosomes,
systematically forming to prevent
one's own annihilation.
I mean extermination.
The labor of existence.
the first time
you heard the whisper of death
/the death that has always been lingering/here with you
/since the day you were born.
heard it telling you/
that you must be both /dead and alive
want us to be
dead when a man wants to beat us
when they wanna rape us
dead when the police kill me
alive when the police kill you
alive when it's time to be in they kitchens
when it's time to push out they babies
living a double conscience/both dead and alive
I've been bleeding since 1866
dragged my bloody self to 1919
and bled thru the summer
being slaughtered by whites
A klux of chaos came after
an influx of terror from German and Irish immigrants.
amerikkkan imperialist wasted no time
joining mobs of riots even the descendants of the pilgrims still licking knives
clean from the trail of tears joined in to slaughter and rampage.
All because of a feeling
an emotion/ fear
by the time I got to watts
I was missing most of my limbs
still had enough blood in my throat
to gargle up 9 words
I resist to being both the survivor and victim
but I know the reality
and some of us did just die
under a boot
/under a pounding fist
in the back of a car raped
/our vagina mangled guts
some of us did just die
while giving birth /(past oure)
while protesting for the freedom of our sons/ (future hora)
only god knows
how I made it to Ferguson
Renisha didn't make it
Rekia didn't make it
Aiyanna didn't make it
Yvette didn't make it
Pearlie didn't make it
Shantel didn't make it
Tarika didn't make it
Tyisha didn't make it
Kathryn didn't make it
Gabriella didn't make it
Miriam didn't make it
Shereese didn't make it
Sharmel didn't make it
I was sure I was dead
after being dragged by a pickup truck
in jasper texas
where 81 pieces of me/my body
was scattered across a back road.
The white men dropped me off at a black cemetery
/see that's how I got over. here.
the same place I was in 1866.
A bleeding black body
blowing in the wind
dripping a ironic thickness of things never changing.
time is a balancing act
that encompasses all things
suspended in illusion.