“Man, I felt like an outsider in my own space because I let someone else flatten me.” –Tyler Burns on the Pass the Mic podcast episode “Is Black History Month Colonized?”
I’ve felt the fatal blows
of friends that claim
the Lord’s name,
careless words pierce my conscious
and demand a choice
between ethnicity and faith.
God’s shown me His face
and He looks like us.
My body has been broken
and crumpled into
the most grotesque of forms—
my skin lacerated
by merciless hands, remnants of
my melanin stuck beneath their nails.
God’s shown me His face
and He looks like us.
Halos meant to bless become
the nooses tightened around
our necks,
hanged for a desire to
evolve from static
ballers and fetishized dancers.
God’s shown me His face
and He looks like us.
Conflicting sermons that speak
of inspired creation while
the congregation regulates
our roles–
cramped spaces that prevent
breaking stereotyped molds.
God’s shown me His face
and He looks like us.
Blessed brown child know
your sacred place—
lift your tear stained cheeks
to heaven and allow your
curiosities to soar.
Blessed brown child give
your mind rest—
the potential you hold expands
from east to west, there is no space
where your ambitions cannot abound.
Blessed brown child learn
to live free—
remove the limitations of those
that fail to see
our crafted souls clearly.
God’s shown us His face
and we look like Him.
Photo by Breston Kenya