There he was standing tall, feeling proud,
He spoke loud and clear, reassuring of his knowledge,
He drifted away in memory of what it was like to be black,
He spoke about the great ones, the world changing men and women whose hard work is paying off.
I felt so wise, listening, and admiring this handsome black man,
It reminded me of the many times, my brown people have had to stand up,
Seeing him in that poll, tall, black, and proud, reminded everyone that the dreams we dream off have no expiration time.
The people surrounding him, old and wrinkled, the pain reflects on their faces,
It has been a long road, but they finally made it,
They can all look up proud knowing they are accepted and respected now,
The flag in the back, reminding us of all what freedom is, what it means to be American,
We should all continue to be free, to feel free, to roam this world we our many dreams,
To remember what is like to be alive, and to live in a country where we all can and will achieved and fulfill our dreams,
Oh, thank God, what a time to be alive!
We will continue to rise, we will continue to overcome every obstacle,
We will one day talk about this day again, how in black history month and black men is making history again.
Flags wave in unison
The bearers undivided
A cause brings them together, many become one
Ideals fade into a dying flame
The passions bleed into a generations turmoil
To them it was but a political game
Lives in the hands of flags
A Promise of unity, a lie met with uprising
The people looking up now packing their bags
The rights would be free to all
The country founded on inequality
I should have known we’d be the first to fall
Flags wave in unison
Your bearers divide my people
But your mocking smile tells me you won
The Walk of Shame
Walking up these deep stairs hoping not to fall
Armpits are sweaty
I’m so nervous it feels like bees have swarmed by armpits with stings
Or maybe I’m just nervous
I know they had to see me, but what do they see when they see me?
Did they notice the stain on my shirt?
Did they notice my dad bod stomach poking out?
My back is now turned, but the anxiety has not subsided
It feels like the concrete is rising about my feet
The rails are making the pathway tight and slender
I feel like a dog far away from home
And my home is where I would rather be
Where my anxiety doesn’t haunt me
Or where the voices of others don’t seem so loud
Hands do a lot of things
They’ve created art and made music
Crafted tables and made engines.
Have cramped writing essays
Handshake instead of high fived
Texted best friends
Touched oceans and swam in lakes.
Our hands have felt
The warmth of a touch
The heat of a burn
The pain of a jam and scuff of a knuckle
They’ve been pricked, prodded, and
Some are rough
Some are smooth
Each have their own scars
Each have their own story
So I wonder…
What story do yours tell?
From humble start to
Suits, stripes and slacks
Bright smiles shining
Mr. White, photographer,
collector of life’s light
A storyteller too
Camera in hand as if to say
“My next story could be you.”
The hero of ‘82
Flashes a smile
“Let’s see what you can do!”
Passing through the aperture of life’s
Darkness and constriction
To be preserved, that we may be
Illuminated with conviction