My name is Keith and I’m a 26 year old black man from Georgia. I grew up about an hour outside of Atlanta, in a suburb called Canton. My hobbies include drawing, reading, skateboarding, soccer, basketball, and nature walks. I like to write about many topics, including love, society, race, and philosophy.
I began writing as an outlet. I felt I had a lot to say, but as a child, life hammered home that my voice didn’t matter. To my family, to my teachers, to my peers. Eventually my voice didn’t matter to me either. So I hid.
The sun comes up,
I follow its lead.
I head to the mirror,
Gotta brush my teeth.
I look in the mirror and who do I see?
Me… Just me.
Now it’s time for school.
Time for some human interaction.
“You’re one of the good black people”
Well shit… Didn’t know you knew them all…
What kind of compliment is that…
Whatever, dude is wack.
“You’re a credit to your race”
To say that to my face,
As if this black skin was mix and match,
And I could somehow make a choice to erase or replace.
I know people today are misguided.
I’m taking ancient wisdom we’ve been provided,
making the vision more than just improvising,
my ways based on the current ways of the world.
They say diamonds and pearls
how you climb in this world.
But I know it’s not true.
I’ve seen righteous impoverished
and the rich with no clue.
From a young age,
knew the balance was off.
Every talent revolved,
around validation from animals surrounding the trough.
Nourishment from a fixed perspective.
Grew up unknowingly misdirected. Confidence only allowed if approved by the next pig. Or the next kid. Or the…
Infinity feels like a long way off.
But there’s infinite potential in a moment.
The blind might scoff.
Say it’s necessary to second guess..
Every second past is a second less.
I gotta keep count.
I gotta keep stress.
Or else I won’t impress,
others enough for their invest.
But if you invest in you,
do your best for you,
realize all that these seconds do.
So many choices,
we act like we’re voiceless.
That’s because we’re not choosing our purpose.
Fear lurking causes us to be uncertain.
See some photographs
and want to live as a different person.
I never had a home.
My mind where I’m residing.
All the tribulations turned me numb,
I did my best to hide it.
“How are you?”
No awkward silence,
I start lying.
“Boy you know I’m doing super good,
doing this and that…”
Swear that’s the worst thing about these rules…
I’m going tit for tat.
Defining who I am by what I do…
Good luck with that.
Always feel like I dropped the ball,
but life won’t run it back.
whip my back,
punishment the only way they gave a man to cope with that.
Black skin in a land of black hearts
Who’ll gladly black eyes for black cards.
Try their best to turn your light into a black one.
I’m talking real blue.
Dull the shine that once revealed truth.
But that’s okay.
If you don’t focus on hues,
you can put that blue to some use.
Start revealing the dirt that’s not in everyone’s view.
Until the ones they’ve misused,
start to own their ability to use their light as a tool.
You tried to change it for the worse,
instead you hipped us to clues.
Y’all are blind to…
Apology to James Baldwin.
Or the out of context quote
this is involving.
because Americans won’t turn the page
from kids encaged,
racism still here to stay…
It’s room is dirty,
the bed’s not made.
That means I can stay enraged.
I know this country deserves all the scorn.
How do you control how we grow,
then call us a thorn?
Act like we don’t know
you can’t call this reform.
Our system that shoe horns before I am born.
Move a couple pieces around,
say you’ve opened the floor. …
They try to reduce our history to a month…
I can’t believe it.
As if all the things
we’ve been achieving
could be reduced to 28 days…
29 if we’re lucky.
Even when blessed,
“black” people end up with less.
Every other month,
had too many days I guess.
Every four years,
we’re under duress.
Here comes another prez
with promises they never respect.
Take a leap of faith to expect
them to help take this noose off our neck.
Give us platitudes.
Tell us to show gratitude.
For any acknowledgement.
Made the shoes this land walks in, they still…
I wish black history lacked mystery…
That we could trace our family through centuries.
If only our family trees had starker leaves…
Story arcs received,
knowing what my people meant for me.
That it was clear to me
where my family used to be.
And what they used to see.
And what they’d do for me.
I wish these things could be true for me.
it doesn’t take two to see,
our leaves scattered
after our trees battered.
then construed it,
so our existence is sadder.
Their insistence on laughter when we tell them our history…
The essence of spirituality is contentment. Know yourself and heal your universe. Kensho- To see one’s nature. Corruption causes justice to appear as insanity.