born from the blood, sweat, and tears of slaves
and you expect me to change
created in the path of dirt trickled to mud down shoulder blades
and you look at me strange
brought to life with sun rise on cracked fingers and aching bodies
what can i possibly rearrange?
that burn, deep haunting hollow, in the middle of my eye
speaks with words they could only whisper
and you don't understand my refusal to bend my back and my challenging stance
that survived hundreds of years, across oceans, in shanties and shacks, master's whip lashes, and a neuse
that's what you want to abuse?
dogs. barking dogs, swamp bottoms, mulatto babies bowing to siblings and being renounced by fathers, treated like cattle
and you call a misunderstood dance in the street a battle
being free institutionalized, working for white wives, scared when the sun goes down 'cause that's when they come out,
having to protest what we knew we were meant, sharp stares, and judgements
and you think I expect you to be able to say my name?