Our hues make some assume
We march lockstep to every beat
We all sing the same tune
We are not a monolith
When will they ever learn?
Cooning, conning, Uncle tomming
Lurk at every turn
House and field; blue collar, white
Southern, northern, too
Still they think we’re not distinct
That I am merely you
“The Blacks” we’re called
As if we all
Reside on the same street
On the corner where PTSD
And reparations meet
“The Blacks” we’re called
As if we all
Reside on the same street
On the corner where PTSD
And reparations meet
Round another corner, and
You’ll find some are elite
“Stop and frisk” brought them great joy
No hoodlums on their street
Some have faith in God
That others see as mental illness
No white Jesus in their homes
They preach “keeping it realness”
Each argument begins and ends
“The problem is “The Man”
No revolution’s happened yet
Some doubt one ever can
Some have faith in God
That others see as mental illness
No white Jesus in their homes
They preach “keeping it realness”
Each argument begins and ends
“The problem is “The Man”
No revolution’s happened yet
Some doubt one ever can
“See? THAT’S why we can’t have nice things!”
Complain the neutral ones
Who hate their hue; argue with you
“We’ll never overcome!”
And so they strip themselves—their lives
Of anything that can
Identify, or signify the African in them
Some reach new heights, flee from the fights
Want to go back, but don’t
Once free, they see what life can be
Could free others, but won’t
There used to be a time that some
Would not make any step
Unless their best foot led the way
No longer have they kept
The tenets and the practices
Of love, or pride, or care
Turning on one another
Is practiced everywhere
There is no “we” that I can see
But all goes in the box
That says there’s no distinction
The chicken and the fox
The lion and the lamb
The elephant and mouse
The owl and the ass
Are all the same in every house
We are not a monolith
We know, but here they come
With pandering; apologies
Promising everyone
They know our needs;
Why our hearts bleed
Why our hearts bleed
They’ll be the one to save
Us all from one another
The naive and the brave
The bitter and the hopeful
The ignorant; the wise
And paint us all with one big brush
To satisfy their eyes
To justify their plans
To guarantee a win
And once enthroned,
The monolith, the kith, and all the kin
Go back into the box
To wait four years, or more
Until they come back, hat in hand
Seeking votes like before.
VRWc2020
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