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For
My Nephews
This world will haunt
Your dreams,
And then turn around and
Condemn you for not dreaming.
Being born Black
Is like a secret no one will tell you.
Don’t play too close to churches
If your mind can’t comprehend
The misery of this world and you can
Think of no one to blame but God.
Don’t sit in the back of the class
Unless you can keep up with the lessons,
Because the teacher will feel you don’t want to learn
And that assumption will relieve her
Of a duty to teach you.
Never be afraid to question people’s motives,
Especially when they’re offering
Something for free.
And don’t be too hard on your mother
When you don’t understand her discipline.
She’s trying to get you ready for the world
And prepared for things you may not understand,
Things she doesn’t understand.
This life aint no crystal stair
And nine times out of ten
When you find one,
It’ll be going down.
Home
sick
I remember
days
Too long to capture in my imagination.
When freedom had no price
So I took it for granted.
Now I’m locked up
Refusing to be judged by a system
Weighed, measured, and found wanting.
If you don’t see the injustice perpetuated
In the prison system, then you’re looking for excuses.
I can’t blame you.
If God is nearly half as wise
As the bible claims God to be,
Maybe excuses will be enough.
I still dream while incarcerated,
Even though my dreams aren’t as vivid
As they used to be when I was on the streets,
Dreams written in chalk
So that they can be erased
If they are not strong enough to survive
The reality of prison.
I keep my
”When I get home”
To do list written on my heart,
But the chalk doesn’t stay.
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A
Single Mother
A single
mother stares out her
Project window watching the youth
Disregard their dreams like crumbs shaken off
A dirty apron.
Her
dreams scattered and blown in the streets
Like torn pages falling from heaven.
She doesn’t have faith in tomorrow
Because she used what she had
Walking through yesterday.
A single mother
Strung out on yesterdays dreams,
Because she wants to smile like the women on T.V.
Still praying the same prayer that she
Started as a teen.
As if she and God were embraced in a chest match.
She figures if she doesn’t finish (Amen)
God will continue to give her his undivided attention
Waiting for her next move.
A single mother staring at her child
Filled with guilt and anxiety.
Haunted by the uncertainty of whether or not
She’ll raise a somebody in this world?
Because the only thing she can pass down
Is a bottle of pennies, a crumbled dollar,
And an unfinished prayer she inherited from
Her mothers before her.
She understands the pain in the small
Hungry eyes staring up at her.
As she kisses those small hands
Praying they weren’t created to expect a hand out.
How can she explain the truth of the world –
(In an ear so small)
Without crushing embryo dreams
She vowed to keep?
(Even if through broken promises)
A single mother striving to keep her child
From creating his own truths about the world.
Prayers
of a Convicted Man
My prayers
Fall like rain
Into the thoughts of convicted men
Who were as innocent as
Humanity is fallible.
My prayers
Fall like rain
Into the intentions of a mother
Struggling to make ends meet
The hungry mouths of her children
Starving for life.
My prayers
Fall like rain
Into the foot-prints
Of men on the run bargaining with life
Like so many of us do.
My prayers
Fall like rain
Into the wisdom of yesterday
Making the truth clearer to see
And softer to touch.
My prayers
Fall like rain
Into the empty pockets
Of a man just paroled
Waiting at the bus stop
Trying to catch a dream...
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