So one day, I was at this park in the South walking around awaiting my friend’s arrival. Then suddenly, I came across this bleak, disturbing statue that was surrounded by chrysanthemums
I stopped for a moment and observed what I saw
It was a proud bronze white man with a stern look, idly sitting on his horse
It struck a chord, so I stood there like the thinking man statue and let my thoughts run their course, thinking…
Monuments once meaningful, now meaning less, following the meaningless deaths and pools of blood that paved the way for statues to stand over slaves graves
Tides and waves too wide and tall no durag could contain or hold for a long duration of time
Black bodies shipped across seas for nickels and dimes and like the imprint left by tight durags on overnight It’s still on my mind
It drags on while my thoughts are racing keeping up the pace with racist horse statues I’m still facing…but I look up thinking…
“Is this how Masta looked?”
Shooked, I continued to stand there like a statue thinking…
Monuments momentarily monumental back then folks were mental and overly sentimental
About their white wigs, white horses, white hoods, in white churches, with white Van’s, filled with damn Daniels, that would ride around black neighborhoods to terrorize our families and friends
Irony is that they would prey outside of churches hoping that God’s children won’t stay for good
When we pray inside our churches, I hope he hears us from the pews, over the pews shot from men in hoods
Prayers are what we’re dealing with when a roof is over our heads
I sat there, elbow on knee, thinking…
Monuments not meaningful, they are meaning less Moreso wholeheartedly hatred hidden in houses whose homes hold history that was never told I’m sure slave masters would never read his story if all the text was written in bold
So books are still on shelves, slave documents are still in chest, next to their new Jim Crow as they are continuing to build more nest and invest in private jails racist, rapist politicians in powerful positions who will probably grab this world by the pussy because life’s a bitch right?
I just clench my fist tight as sweat gathers between my hands I stand there like the thinking man, thinking…
Monuments not meaningful, they’re meaningless, less than whole
Once the majority becomes the minority their priority is to break us down into fractions
Maybe why cops are dividing families as black lives are subtracting when people are adding 911 to their dial to file a complaint on any melaninated child
This is how racist cowards cower call cops cause they kill us after arriving in less than an hour leaving no blood on the caller hands after using Dove in the shower I’m thinking some squares are scared of our roots when it has always been black to the power
When we multiply We trump Any tower Any obstacle Any problem Any statue within our view
Still, I stood there in the shadow casted by a racist statue holding a handful of chrysanthemums, thinking…
“This is why we strive”
