Why We March


For the ghost of bodies hung from trees

For the arrests and attacks of the people and Martin Luther King

For the lashes and scars on my great-great-grandmother’s back

We march side by side, back to back

For the culture infiltrated by oppressive society

For the old temples and matriarchs calling upon the Almighty

For the history only learned through elders’ mouths

We march East and West, North and South

For every black body slain in the street

For the deceivements and cover ups we’ll undoubtedly meet

For my ancestors on the Middle Passage, thrown in the sea

We march for them, we march for me

For the loss opportunities due to our name

For the jest, show, and mockery made of our frame

For the slurs and blackface witnessed every other day

We march for justice, our offenders will pay


“Why don’t you just get over it? It’s not like it happened to you.”

“I’m not racist, I have plenty of black friends. What do you expect me to do?”

I’m tired of answering the same questions; I’m tired of repeating myself

Find some slave narratives and read our history; try to educate yourself


No you did not lynch me, scar me, or kill me

But your culture’s history affects my culture’s history

This is why I can’t let go

Our redemption is only halfway down the road

You want to know why we march? Why we won’t take it and be quiet?

Because not long ago, and still today, a peaceful protest is called a riot.

This poem is about: 
My community
My country


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