Poetry

Gravity, Graves, and Gods

Posted by seanbrown2020

We only care in short bursts

Love is an unexpected expenditure for those trying to hold life between their teeth

Survival makes it hard to speak
We prefer physiological affirmatives so we don’t break character

Head-nod

Having been at war with myself, it’s hard to mourn the collateral damage

Trauma means never loving in public places
We were not meant for this

Not born for belabored breathing and phlegmatic change, dogma that disconnects because we aren’t worth the same

Privilege, means not having to feel the weight, it’s saying “privileged” when we mean “racist”

Privilege makes gravity optional

Image a Black man without weight

Speaking of Black Magic: Alchemy is creating generational wealth on our first date, while America celebrates her 244th anniversary, by burying her dead in indigenous birthing rooms, overlaid with slave quarters, right next to wall borders, beneath immigrant built railroad relics smiling at Europe and pretending she’s jealous

I wonder – what will they find when they unearth me? Will they displace my son and call it discovery? Will they disrobe my daughters, claim they feel no pain, and call it medicine? Will they worship me as God and paint me white?

Please, tell me more about your worship

Erase my coptic christianity with more carceral capitalism

Bury more Breonnas so that $20 Harriets can resurrect, and hover around NBA “protest” jerseys and streets painted Black Lives Matter gold

Tell me more, about how the phallic fashioning of a Christopher Columbus crucifix is far more offensive then the systemic satire you call social justice

Yes! That’s exactly what we mean when we say “I can’t breathe”

Only it’s not
But we understand – flustered flailing and fainting has always looked like a yes to rapists

After all, what is consent when you don’t speak the language?

We fall down flights of prayers and sing incoherent things to God

In every tongue we know, we say, “Give Us Wings”

1 Comment

  1. Azia Wiggins

    “Speaking of Black Magic: Alchemy is creating generational wealth on our first date, while America celebrates her 244th anniversary, by burying her dead in indigenous birthing rooms, overlaid with slave quarters, right next to wall borders, beneath immigrant built railroad relics smiling at Europe and pretending she’s jealous..” 🗣🔥

    “Will they worship me as God and paint me white?” 🔥🔥🔥

    ENCORE!! ✊🏿🖤

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