“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