MENTAL NOTES (POETRY)


Sitting on grey cement.

That’s a milestone to say the least.

Staring at grey cement dreaming of demons and fighting my own inner beast.

Barak Obama, I can’t even vote!!

Making mental notes of why.

In my dreams I was thanking the little people for my own demise.

The pimps, the hoes, the hustle and the flows and the gleeful sparkle in the innocent’s eye.

All I ask for in this hell is a piece of my grand mom’s famous apple pie.

Ntozake Shange said someone almost ran off with all her stuff.

Well they took mine a long time ago and a little bit just wasn’t enough.

I put myself here so let’s not complain just sit back and go for the ride.

Like the ride Clinton took us on.

I puffed but I did not inhale.

Ha, leaving too much room for small tales.

We voted but still had very little faith.

“I did not sleep with that woman” Mr. President said, with too much of shameful haste. 

Immediately exposed by that black dress with his remains to waste.

Mr. President tried to explain, but it was too late to retreat back to that…White place.

He was no longer one of them.

All the Jackie O’s and future poles man all turned their noses up at him.

But the people uptown they drank a round and named him the new Leroy Brown.

He was black that’s what we saw and that was no small tale.

But, WHY WHEN HE DOES SOMETHING LIKE THIS DOES HE BECOME A FEW SHADES DARKER THAN PALE.

My people we laughed.

He’s become one of us.

Now I’m a bit confused.

As he looked dumber and dumber telling all those lies on the 6 o clock news.

The world put up such a big fuss.

I have to eject my R’s denounce my A’s or I’ll get thrown on the other side of the bus. 

Black white, white black.

What a controversial uneducated thing.

My hair is good.

My genes are strong.

And it’s my strength that I bring.

They call us names say we’re ugly.

Now come on, you know that’s hardly the case.

Just ask THE MAN he’ll tell you always up in a sista’s face.

Some people get mad because what they see is beautiful and complete.

And not even on their best day, no matter how hard they try, can they ever compete.

I am beautiful, as you can see.

And when I look in the mirror I’m loving all of me.

I’ll never believe the lie they told my ancestors.

Cause ain’t a damn thing wrong with me. 

The truth is their eyes of jealousy when they look at me.

My lips.

My ass.

My pretty dark skin.

They even try to copy my hair.

Those are eyes of jealousy.

I clearly recognize that glare. 

As she walked away and flipped her hair.

Our prison uniform says were in the same boat.

But just a little truth for her to keep as a mental note.

 

                             Thank you, Dauphin County Prison.

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