He never said the word

He didn’t have to

He sold blue eyed dreams down a nappy head highway 

And preached blonde haired sermons to charcoal smiles 

And you know what?…they believed every word he said 

He coaxed them to drop every white picket hope  

Strategically, he removed glasses from eyes going blind from searching for a promised land. 

Then…He called them to chaos

Set back in a chair made of the tears of every motherless child

And watched us KILL each other!

But oh, no…don’t worry…because He never said the word

He just bleached our eyes white until we didn’t recognize anything blacker than a paper bag

We sang hymns of whips and chains

Chain, chain, chain hanging low 

Like strange fruit or

Desolate eyes examining a broken mirror looking, hoping, praying  for some semblance of a bad bitch

But it was never there  

Because nails can never be long enough, weave straight enough, face BEAT enough 

To appease long legged demons screaming 

“It MUST be yo ass ‘cuz it aint yo face”      

Tip drillin’ brown eyed diamonds into rhinestone rocks 

I found nothing but disgrace in every crystal stair I stepped

Steppin, tip-toeing through mind fields of political correctness bc 

The bruises don’t count if he never said…the word

So I called myself taking it back

Strapped myself in machinery too heavy for this broken back

And I sprayed

Shellshocked from HIStory 

I lit up the night with N-bombs CREATED to pierce Black skin

And had the audacity to call it my own

Take pride in the bullet holes 

Snapchatted the verbal massacre simply  bc massa lemme participate in the castration of my ancestry

All…with a word

A word he never said

He just handed us the sword and allowed us to pick and choose our own demise

Giftwrapped our blackness and left it hanging from our front porch like strange fruits

I..think he knew

when he made it 

That it would always be his

Tattooed his name on our backs and left us thinking we were taking something back…

That we were getting back to some semblance of what was black but…

The power was always his

He just made us think we were using it

Set back and laughed as we abused our own heritage 

And here it is

Crumbling from my hands like wet sand 

I’m stuck…and confused

Freeing myself of this noose

I too fondly call my Nigga Blues….