Adams and Eves

Many blacks seem to believe

That black and whites were the Adams and Eves of racial sin.

Whites took the forbidden fruit and hung the strange fruit from the tree of life

And that fruit, strange, has bloomed today in fire and hatred that we thought was long gone.

But if I am being historically accurate,

It would appear that the Adams and Eves were the Whites and the Indians,

I mean, Native Americans

Don’t mean to discriminate like the whites did to the natives

The whites did to the natives

The whites did

The whites’ privilege

That’s what started it all right? The white privilege, thinking they can take what they want

Do what they what, entitled mutha-

Mary, of Jesus

Jesus,

The focus,

But we are all scattered and the target is blurred in the distance

And all we can see and focus on is what is right in front of us--

The Adams and the eves of racial sin,

The serpents of the media reeling us in like fish out of water,

We are flapping, gasping for breath

We are blaming each other

We are killing each other, man--

We are all Man

But who are the Adams and the Eves, who started it all, who do we blame?

I wanna get even more historically correct

And say the Adams and the Eves of racial sin, of discrimination, of hatred

Existed long before Americans could recreate a history

Similar to the histories of dynasties and kingdoms and empires centuries before.

I wanna get as historically accurate as I can, so that man can finally find the blame,

So that man can decide who to shoot, who to loot from, who to throw bricks at, who to call racist pigs--

Swine of the devil.

I’ll get historically accurate for our petty desire, our pathetic human desire.

How about the Egyptians and the Israelites?

The Israelites were slaves to those entitled mutha-

Mary, of Jesus

Jesus,

The focus.

This seems to be a pattern

For us to digress in worldly matters

But it’s just that easy to slip and fall and crack your head open on the concrete

Bricks

Concrete bricks are being thrown and bashing heads of Negros and gringos!

Who are the Adams and the Eves of racial sin!?

As historically accurate as I can be, I’m sure it was the Egyptians and the Israelites,

But their skin was the same, right?

Brownish blackish, bluish bruises punched into the history of mankind

Ramses, Moses--

They aren’t to blame, they can’t be to blame

Because that would be blaming the black,

You know, the people oppressed

You know, the only ones allowed to feel unsettled and cause social unrest,

These entitled mutha-

Mary, of Jesus

Jesus,

the focus.

So it can’t be the blacks, it can’t be the whites, for some reason the other races are irrelevant

And hidden behind closed doors

Like the beatings, and the genocides, and the addiction, and the immorality that exists outside our borders.

I’m sure you fell asleep during that line my fellow American because it did not answer your burning question of who’s to blame.

I can get even more factual, and historically accurate 

to find the Adams and Eves of not only racial sin, but discrimination

I’m talking Cain and Abel, brothers ate at the same table, worked the same land, and shared the same blood

Cain killed Abel

For hatred, for jealousy, for pride

Pride is what yields these tragedies we find to be new for our time but have been happening ever since Adam and Eve.

The Adams and Eves to blame are Adam and Eve

But it does no good to blame because we all are the same

Prideful racist pigs entitled mutha-

Mary, of Jesus

Jesus,

the focus.

I see Jesus in this current outburst of human nature in Baltimore

I don’t see the battle between races

I see the battle between men

Prideful, resentful, hateful

Trying to get what’s due to them

What they deserve.

We deserve nothing!

We only deserve our sentence to be hung, like strange fruit on the tree that Christ bore for us!

The tree of life, now, the tree of life because we have new life in the death of Christ

And he should be the focus,

And we deserve nothing,

yet he gives us his love and acceptance

And looks not at our badges, our status, our skin color

Looks not at what we do or what has been done,

He just loves

And loves

And loves.

Ponder

Ponder

Letter after letter
completes a word
after word
sentences, paragraphs,
page after page turns
chapters,
and here we land on a chapter,
start of a new adventure.
My heart bleeds each word,
and I think of a time
when these pages will be written for me to read--
ingrained in my memory.

To go abroad, will be a blip in my lifetime,
or a change in the script
a lifetime movie--
not written by human hands,
but Divinity.
My heart bleeds each word,
Christ bled so each word in scripture would be fulfilled--
for me.
I can live out this truth daily
as His daughter and ponder
my story, recorded,
Knowing that my story has begun,
and ended
intertwined in His glory,
with a happily ever after
not even fairy tale stories could capture.

Page after page turns,
and I'm excited to say
that today,
a trip to Spain is a necessary blip,
A volta,
A change that God knows is good for me.
I trust Him, knowing that relationships
games,
worries
pains,
love
food,
studies
fun,
laughter
tears,
fears
and joy
are to come--
and I'm at peace.

He keeps me.

"A Well-Worn Story" by Dorothy Parker

In April, in April,
My one love came along,
And I ran the slope of my high hill
To follow a thread of song.

His eyes were as hard as porphyry
With looking on cruel lands;
His voice went slipping over me
Like terrible silver hands.

Together we trod the secret lane
And walked the muttering town.
I wore my heart like a wet, red stain
On the breast of a velvet gown.

In April, in April,
My love went whistling by,
And I stumbled here to my high hill
Along the way of a lie.

Now what should i do in this place
But sit and count the chimes,
And splash cold water on my face
And spoil a page with rhymes?

Bitterness

I listen to these poems

I watch the news

I listen to this music

I hear the conversation

And what I gain from them is bitterness

The taste not-so-sweet

The taste of the feet of marches upon protests

Upon Slave-dress

That bitter

I write a poem about whites, the blacks get bitter

A poem about blacks, the whites get bitter

A poem about gays, the straights get bitter

A poem about straights, the gays they shiver

A poem about Jews, anti-Semites cringe

A poem about terrorism, Muslims don’t win

A poem about abortion

A poem about slavery

A poem about melanin

No one will be pleased

Someone will take offense

And someone will hoot and holler in agreement but the problem will continue

Intolerance will exist

And your verse

And that slur

And your opinion is only bitterness

Like I said before no one will be pleased

See there will always be a minority

There will always be a bias against you

And yes it’s sad

And yes its cruel but that is human

That is nature

That is the world, sick as it is, we live in

Very few sweet things come of it

And your tongue tastes bitterness

I could write a poem about God

But bitter people will assume religion

I’m only spitting to bring to light your bitterness

See he’s the only sweet thing I’ve tasted and unbiased thing I’ve seen

And yes you can preach about how he hates

The whites for twisting his book

Hates the gays for loving same

Hates the people of other faiths and beliefs

You can preach about how he caused this bitterness

To swell inside you

And how you now have cause to be defiant

Mind you my dear persecuted girl

What are you persecuted for?

Your skin? Your orientation? Your religion? Your slavery?

We are all slaves to sin

But we tend to forget that part of the story

We tend to forget Adam and eve

We tend to neglect that God came down

That God dwelled among the crooks and gays

That God walked with prostitutes and slaves

And that God died for the White man’s hate

We focus on our issue

Make ourselves victims

Take that infertile soil and spread it across our tongue

Ingest it with our bread

And call ourselves righteous for having a cause

To “fight” for

See man, is not gracious

Man, is not accepting

Man, is not loving

Man is not God

And whoever your God might be

Just know I respect you but my God is greater

My God is creator

My persecution is temporary

And my burdens are light

My skin is black

My hair is naps

My faith is hated

But I know in my heart

And I taste on my tongue the sweetness of heaven

I am who God created me to be

And I know not everyone will accept me

I know not everyone will want to associate with me

Or allow me to certain human “rights”

Because of where I come from or what I look like

But my only rights come from God all mighty and

No man or woman can make me feel like

I am not loved

You are loved

You are accepted

You are beautiful and perfect and worth it

In the eyes of God our father

And he wants you to see you through his eyes

And believe me once you do

All the haters, all the politicians, all those against you

Won’t matter

Oddly enough you’ll learn to love them

And see them how God sees them

And let them not affect you

And the bitterness will slowly slip off your tongue

And the burden will be lifted away

And the scars will fade

Life won’t get easier, but it’ll sure taste a lot sweeter.

Slowly Drifting "January 2015"

Sandy shore
Shining stars
Rustling wind
Wave after wave

"slowly driftin"

City lights
fireworks
Sparkling reflection
Glistening ocean

slowly driftin

Sweet kisses
Serenades
Promenades
Promiscuity

slowly driftin

Perfect pleasure
Immeasurable
But irreplaceable
Dispensable

slowly driftin

and weve drifted.

The Average Black Girl

Ernestine Johnson Performs 'The Average Black Girl' on Arsenio Hall Show: http://youtu.be/2tN4Zulagb8

a stroke here

a smudge there

splashes of color 

that fade to gray

lively lilting--

legible

worn and wilting--

tangible

this Monet that is 

you and i

from afar we make sense 

up close we are a mess,

a Michelangelo gone mad,

a tarnished Sistine ceiling

where beauty peeks through

and through each moment spent with you

i am forever confused--

forever falling

flailing

fawning 

fearing over the fact

that you may not fully be mine

I find this composition

to be concerning,

this painting 

to be painful,

yet wonderful at the same time

I cannot complete what is not finished.

I cannot see what is not in focus.