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Sunday, 31 May 2020
Saturday, 30 May 2020
He is Black
I know it is my voice, my noise, my criesand i don't speak for a thousand me, just the one i know;For in a thousand i loose the voice i haven't found,The fire i haven't ignitedI know how i sound and it not a sign of weaknessYes, tearsBut not threatening;I have an identity,One which I have be bearing;By how far,I say a millionThundering steps, stumps, thuds,Hit the ground, destroy you worshipping maggots.
The roots are lifted, tasted before rendered "you-less"and you have not a family, not the tree, just as they don't agree.It feels strange now,To have you feel slaved and young all againScream your momma, she can't hearI screamed mine while you buried my head,Comfort your battle,You haven't lost, i clipped your wings as you clipped mine.In a twinkle, a blink, a mere passage of time, crippled by you;Folded and stashed like a cloth that you see fit;Hostile to the truth and you steal him,His life, his right, his surviving fight,That he is black doesn't put a bullet his in heart just as fast.
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