Isis Nelson
blackness in america (hurts)
racism and white supremacy have existed since the beginning /
the suffering did not start with a whimper /
no, not a whimper, but a violent, deep and tremulous b a n g /
(it keeps on going, repetitive and loud; it shakes everyone, hurts everyone) /
(our eardrums have been pounded on for so long, some of us forget the noise ever existed) /
the stones in washington, all marble and pure, were laid by our ancestors /
(red stains, open wounds, infections, puss, dark skin cut open) /
once, we were slaves; now, we're barely human at all, it seems /
you're born with one foot in the g r a v e /
your legs stretch -- all you feel is sharp, unnerving pain /
you came into this world hated and condemned /
the system, the one every american is born and forced into, was not made for you /
(white men made this broken thing, they use and benefit from it) /
you can't shake the feeling of being shackled /
your chains are breakable /
(but you, and the people like you, do not have the tools to shatter any binding) /
even most of our founding fathers, the men (and women) who began this country “owned” slaves /
(we hold them so high, so reverently; they were never angels or gods at all) /
they went on a quest in search of freedom /
but, they only found it for themselves /
every human feels the pain of oppressed, enslaved, and suffering peoples /
every invisible chain can be easily seen once viewed with empathy and compassion for others /
the ache of prejudice trembles in every heart, even in those who don't experience it /
suffering poisons every well of humanity it touches /
sometimes i wonder if anyone else feels the piercing, all-consuming agony we do /
imperialism has dirtied us all /
(the blood shed, domestic or not, is so large that it could turn the ocean red) /
(we're no better than foreign terrorists when we kill the innocent, helpless, and oppressed) /
i've watched as black bodies hit the pavement and asphalt, as the warmth inside them flooded out /
as they're tackled by cops for crimes they didn't commit /
(no g o d saved them) /
i'm tired of war, i'm exhausted by fighting -- i just want peace /
i've grown up with atrocities and they have slowly killed me /
my country is guilty of many things, the sins are listless at this point /
(my innocence, if it existed at all, was stolen by a past that is not wholly my own) /
i don't want this grief anymore, i’ve had enough of it /
african blood that once ran through enslaved veins paints my house, my horror, my histories /
(that blood runs through me, yet i'm surrounded by it) /
somewhere inside myself, the remnants of tragedy covers every wall /
(trauma doesn't let go, not even generations later) /
is this what freedom feels like? /
why does it hurt so much? /
every system is built against us, my chest hurts from the very weight of them /
i want real freedom, the type white people have had since the beginning /
the kind of freedom that it'll spill out of my mouth like i was punched in the face /
(tastes like copper and makes me feel a l i v e again) /
the freeness that lets me breathe like i don’t have asthma /
have you ever stared at the abyss and had it stare back at you? /
that's what being black in america is like /
we’ve been staring for a long time /
(we’ll stop one day, but not anytime soon) /