History in the Present Tense

My nigga had eyes deep enough to swallow the sea,

not swallow the pain that you laid at his feet.

 
But miraculously,
he couldn't help what had happened to me,
because broken men like you so easily deceive
innocent girls who were walking down the street.
 
I'm talking this man's food is
Like feed on me 
is breed with me, 
blind fold meets duck tape ,
 no see, no scream.
 
I am not a human being
but an animal 
and you are the
original 
smooth criminal
 
 you are
the real deal
 in a villains field 
and 
I'm looking 
at you bookin 
 
me in this prison 
 
Thankful 
that you stole my vision 
 
And your cuming to this decision 
 
Found your release successful mission
 
And I'm laying here wishing,
 
I could have clawed off your dick-tion
 
 
You claim that black pain is fiction
 
In the book that you've written
 
Girls are tired of the weight and the room has  now shifted.
 
Your bloody  scale has been tilted 
 
And we grant you your sentence
A verdict with no limits 
 
your motion- picture is finished 
 
here.
 
Here lies a body drained of pure African blood in the 50s 
 
I got eyes like my ancestors screaming did you miss me
 
Close up and personal got a date with my history .
 
Don't hold my neck to tight love
Forgot your people lynched me?
 
Spit in my face and still want to kiss me
 
Call me a nigga but still wanna dick me
 
Down 
 
Still a slave when I'm tied up and bound
Strong enough now to hold my ground
 
 
 
I haven't been black 
since your white smeared my back
ground grey
 
And you thought ocean blue eyes was enough to wash away
 
The scars on my back 
that you lashed four times a day?
 
Have the audacity to call it love 
portray my brother as a thug 
 
Profile picture is a mug 
 
and I'm thinking
 
 
We share similar hobbies
 
You say rape I say robbery
 
You take what you can't possibly 
 
Possess. 
 
 
The blindfold not to shield my eyes 
but to hide the surprise of fear 
Of fear
Of fear 
 
 
Of your fear
 
Cuz you're Afraid to die here
 
Know you deserve to lie here
So you killed ebony, coffee and rye here
 
 
But your excuses fall to deaf ears
 
Don't fall into bed with all of me
But tell your mother im dirty laundry
 
Willing to smear your canvas with my charcoal
 
 and deny the truth in your soul
 
 
It's not about half of me, my
Black isn't your property , 
 
Your lies havent got to me 
 
Reaping my bodies garden 
You call it botany. 
 
 
As we hold the gun , 
 
 
you used to kill our sons .
 
Three
 
 bullet holes here for fun,
 
Two,
 
 no where left to run
 
One 
 
Done
 
 
 
 
Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country

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