I walked out of the Hyatt Regency where the GA Democrats held their election night party with my head in my hands and tears welling in my eyes. I was defeated. I called an Uber to bring me home, and removed each of the buttons and pins and stickers from my jacket, just in case my driver was for the other candidate.
What will happen to me in this world?
‘Merica, a mistake in the making.
Planting drugs in my community.
Whatever happened to our “equal opportunity”?
The rituals we follow before November eighth
Empty the car and flood into the voter booth,
Me, and my mother, and my baby brother to boot.
I am not well.
The kingdom is balancing on the edge of the cliff
Of the rift
Provided by a madman and a hypocrite
i want a home without death without fear //
the house i live in struggles with welcoming me //
it doesn’t accept my skin just because it is riddled in naps & honey //
Strange Fruit is falling/Its skin, bruised from years of neglect
Its soul weary of the fight/Its soul, beaten down for standing strong in its convictions
Its blood paints the ground for loving its brother…
I am brown/Brown, dirt is brown/They think I am dirt, dust/
They clean me out from underneath their fingernails/Wrinkle their noses in disgust/
But no, I am brown/Brown, black soil, fertile/I am soil/I am your roots/Without me no trees/No oxygen for you to breathe…
Got my hands up while you got a bulletproof vest./From the way you were shooting, I’d think I’d had an X on my chest.
America the free, land of the brave./Built up and carried by the legions of slaves.
The way rhythms and good vibes coincide through the bass in your headphones is all for you./
Guitar riffs and lyricists, sneakers and ballet slippers. How great — it’s all up to you.
All I know is that last weekend I was pulled over/
For walking too fast down the sidewalk.
“Where you going, black Muslim girl?/Ain’t nothing here for you.”