by Jalynn Hilton
My Roots
last time I checked I’ve been physically abused
physically when my ancestors took a beating for my freedom
I feel their scars across my back and across my heart
I feel the whip hit my soul when a white woman holds her bag when walking past me
I feel the whip when I walk down the street of white cars and white people and feel like I don’t belong
I feel the whip when I’m called unattractive by white males for being the darkest fruit out of the batch
and I feel whipped when my educators compare
my ancestors’ lives to the lives of white people
who barely worked to get where they are now
when I felt that whip it took apart of me I’ll
never get back
it took my trust, it took my love, it took my fight
and made me weak and made my family's life
work feel meaningless
last time I checked I’ve been verbally abused,
verbally when my ancestors were called negroes
or niggers
I feel their headache when I hear anyone use
those words in songs
I feel their headache when white people still
throw it around like a ball anyone can catch
I feel their headache when black people still use
it and don’t remember what we did to overcome
that word and everything behind it
I feel their headache when I hear the bullet hit a young boy because he’s a “negro”
and I feel their headache when black folks don’t
consider themselves black enough to fit in when
we are all equal people
people whose ancestors pushed aside the
headache for us to sleep in the beds we do
for us to eat the food we eat and wear the clothes we wear, but most importantly to breathe the air we breathe
finally, I checked and I’ve been mentally abused by myself
I felt my own pain when I was told I wasn’t pretty enough because I was black
I felt my own pain when I learned I’d never have those silky smooth roots that white people were given
I felt my own pain when I woke up thinking I was white and then looked in the mirror
I felt my own pain when my family treated me a certain way because I “talk white”
I felt my own pain when even black boys wouldn’t love me
I felt my own pain when black girls wouldn’t accept me and I felt my pain every day till now
I rose above those things because I’ve learned to be strong
I’m not skinny, not fat, not slim
I’m deep, dark and divine
I’m black, I’m beautiful.
that’s just me
Black Lives Matter
black bodies hit the ground
mothers’ screams are the only sound
seeing their beautiful sons’ hearts drown
knowing that one bullet brought down a community
it was the only opportunity to protest and bring unity
politicians and police officers stupidly
confuse security with integrity
tears heavy like bags of confusion
police officers as hungry as a wolf to pull the trigger
while their ego gets bigger communities start to get bitter
consistently condoning the altercations
black people pilfer from stores for attention
news cast talks about the situation for a higher pension
the parents’ hearts are light like paper dolls
as if once their children died
the house they called home began to fall
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