as a man of African descent
I am no Uncle Tom
never have been
but I feel like my mind,
and experience within this structure
has made me America’s
in the colonial age of Britain,
Tim was a boy
innocent like all children
but this boy was special
special in the attention he would come to receive
the job he would be expected to perform
and the death he would succumb to once he had outlived that purpose
A Tim was defined as
a British child/infant, raised/groomed/bred to be molested
and then they killed him
Tim was the act of savagery and a propensity to dominate
satiating the barbaric thirsts and appetites of men his senior
bent, broken, and contorted to their will and pleasure
Tim was an inside joke
even a nickname
for those who were subjugated-
subjected to the prone position of being dominated
the nickname of those expected to,
bend over, and take it- as a matter and manner of fact
because money made them mighty
and might made them right
therefore for the right price
anything, and I mean anything
could become, “right”
if I question my identity
my history
and my role in America
I’m met with exasperation of appall
as if it is absurd to some, or many, still
to become anything more
than America’s Tim
the truth sometimes hurts so bad
humor is created as a means of defiance
and coping
my cell mate’s mother was a prostitute
this was her joke in naming her son Timothy
she understood the short of it would be,
Tim
because it is how she felt
and she knew men and America, with a dark intimacy
she knew what that name may conjure in the subconscious-
of some good ol’ men
the day her son would sign up for school or a job
maybe even with sadistic laughs
since civility is a force of etiquette and politeness
appearing to be more than what is hidden beneath
as if whom they allow to surface is all anyone ever is,
his grandmother told him one day
wait til you find out what your name means
ask your mother
questions of his parents color, and if he was adopted
always asked as he grew up
so when she laughed, and divulged that poignant truth
he hated her for it
and made sure to become anything but that!
but a Tim-
someone expected to accept anything as truth
just bending over to take the lies
in what ever form the are delivered
what he didn’t think of was
the pain of his mother to name her child that
as a trauma invoked act of defiance
fed by the shame of her being and livelihood
probably forced upon her as well
and somewhere deep inside maybe hoping too,
that her son would be, anything
but a Tim
a hidden love
a love given by reversal
Trauma
Watching the Sun
feeling like a child of your light
as you watch me
watching you closely, then following your glow
able to now see the world in its true light
amongst the ominous distractions,
I’ve never lost sight of you
I know what you will do
you will rise
you will shine
you will be
despite any hindrances that may block what I see
you will alarm me to my waking hours
back dropping my hours of peak performance
even setting at my most idle moments
you will even fall from glory’s attention,
falling to alert me to the time to rest and recuperate
as the days come, you will light my path
but one thing you have not been able to show me
is where my Sons are at
because there limits to wonders
some you will know
some you may never
because you can’t highlight everything,
when some things are just kept in the dark
and so that is where I am kept-
despite your luminous magnificence-
in the dark
unable to be like you,
and watch my Sons
the many shining moments and stories forever missed
no light, no matter how herculean,
can ever bring that shine back to me
Bodies aren’t Just Commodities
there have been 1532 souls executed in our country
for every 9 killed, there is 1 exonerated
people of African descent make up 13% of the U.S. population
people of African descent make up 42% of death row inmates
ehh mmm!
BODIES
ARE JUST COMMODITIES!
paying, to right a wrong
isn’t the only way, to right a wrong
yet money deciphers what’s right or wrong
and a check, is how you write, a wrong
because
bodies..
are just commodities!
justice imparting commissioned life and death decisions
where death becomes the sentence
resulting in various lives ended
and just a payout if the conviction gets upended
because
bodies..
are just commodities!
how can the death penalty become redemption
to a condemned soul’s prayers for repentance
a ‘life for a life’ being the only penance
for a civilized society’s view of justice to the families of victims
because
bodies..
are just commodities!
how can we behold the power of God to largely impoverished defendants
all of which grow up with no equal opportunities given
being stuck to the boot print of their country’s rhetoric and visions
as their flesh has been divvied up to two sides of political divisions
because
bodies..
are just commodities!
how can you deem me as a menace
yet plea bargain my finish
appearing to outlaw any outside lynchings
as if we’ve learned from our past, times supposedly being better and different
while it was clearly just a generational pivot
hearing the many argue that the definition of a ‘noose’ has shifted
and the way you quell the structured hate and racial tensions
is by bordering them within razor-wired fences
holding viewings of their hanging on the inside of a building
strapped to a chair or gurney, trembling
electrocuted or ironically, ‘drugged’ to death, resembling
a corrupted symbol of forgiveness
because
a chance has been taken, that was never given
clearly, they never had any chance from the beginning
and that, is Not ‘Just’, that Is Inequality
because
bodies!
aren’t!
‘Just’!
commodities!
What is Darker than Dark?
you know how they say
happy wife, happy life
well, energy transfers
those you surround yourself around most
those you sleep with, and sleep near most
have a weighing effect on you
whether that effect be for the good or bad
my cellmate is a pessimistic lifer
fighting for his freedom in court tirelessly
being railroaded time and time again,
just because he represents himself
and has a clear case to be freed
yet the law shows that it doesn’t work for people like him
at least not in any healthy and promised speed
disregarding the seconds he waits
as his life tick, tocks, tick-tocks, on by
for a young black man that has aged with me in this system
having our ups and downs
once a high school basketball figure
and all-around athlete
too smart for his own good
rebelliously sly and uncaring
now bald
fattened by stress eating and withdrawal
and even darker internally
than his skin
still smart, rebellious, and hides pain well
but even more jaded than life had first made him
his dark humor and all rubbing and weighing on me
it’s heavy
I hear it, see it, and feel it
everyday
even if he claims his freedom one day
time has already done its damnedest
what is darker than dark?
Deep-end
if I fall in this deep end, don’t blame me
I can’t swim in this deep end, don’t blame me
if I drown in this deep end, don’t blame me
I’m going down in this deep end, don’t save me…
Scribing My Pulse
even as I have lost luster for life
my nerves being chilled to ice
still, I write
I write, still
as emotions have vanquished in the face of agony
rendering me a gaping void of apathy
still, I write
I write, still
when there appears to be no escape from abyss
and into the sullen darkness I drift
still, I write
I write, still
the pain in my heart as sharp as a knife
being pulled out, and driven into my side
still, I write
I write, still
writing is my pulse
when the very words I poach
as speech has croaked
and my saliva as thick as pulp
forming lumps in my throat
swallowing each moment that I choke
flared nostrils exhaling smoke
still, I write
I write, still
otherwise, this would be murder unwrote
as any lack of writing, would be as a gyrote
this would be murder unwritten
for the failure to form a sentence
this would be murder unscripted
letting the venom navigate a circulatory system snakebitten
this would be good riddance
as I failed to prevent my own ending
but still, I write
I write, still
so that presumptive storyline is fiction
and my narrative is still being written
therefore I write my redemption
end scene, as the backdrop cascades in crimson