My poetry black , my poetry talk back .. this poet is black .

Before I am woman , I am black

Before I am woman , I am black

Before I create the metaphor and perform poetry , you will hear how I am black that is how I am Treated like black , talk like nigga

But I am not your nigger

So I will not white wash my verbs and adjectives to not offend

I talk like dead came crawling out my skin

I Part the Red Sea and show you the bones of my people buried in my vernacular

I talk like twine stuck in my teeth , from all the times my people bite down on the whip … and let blood swim down their backs into haystacks and straw

I am not built for dead white man poetry

I speak like Porsha olaywiola , jasmine mans , Cynthia valentine , rudy Francisco

But if you listen carefully , I sing hymns like maya angelou , I took the pain , tell it the way I talk

Make a choir , believe in a god , ask him where is his mercy , where does justice go when it not served ?

Their is no way , he needs that many black angels ,

If he is not building army , to correct history

Or does he know we are walking statistics and picks us off the concrete … so their is somewhere safe for us to lay our head

I was told I speak with so much anger , I don’t vist anger … but I walk with grief … and heart full of passion

So when I beat on my chest when I spit on the mic , crack open my wrist and show you were I can feel the rattle of chains , ready to slip around these colored hands. I speak , while I still got time to tell our stories .. before they erase our history …

I want to teach my history … before I become a haunting , a concrete angel …

I was told , by someone they write to escape the world .. ( it must be nice … to out run your imagination , like milk drunk nightmares, that can put you too sleep … when the midnight shivers .. ) I dance with the reaper … he knows my footsteps… can be a “misunderstanding” in the dark night … with a neighborhood watch that thinks he some kind of spider man .. I think it’s funny , how that pen of yours allows you to escape …

I think how I can’t outrun my shadows and my skin color … both are black …

This world is afraid of both …. So how can I pretend to do both , dream and honor nightmares … that are known to become reality’s

My poetry be black , my poetry talk back , this poet is black .. ..

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