A blk. Bowling ball with a platinum blond Maralyn monroe style wig Rollin along with fuzzy house slippers, shorts, belly rolls of Fat proudly sticking out of her front an back pockets Checkin out Walmart.
*Who is she? the ancestors spirits, whisper to the lost young brothas an sisters who died by the bullet.
She thumps along the street disturbing their Rest. Blood from the slaves whip still incrusted on their bones Racism constantly feeding on them..
Hoping we forget the Strange fruit, the Bitter taste of Suffering, And the Russian Roulette of killing our own.
Spinning that bullet of Sophisticated self Hate.
So much so were unaware as we Pull that trigger daily.
So much Self Hate. We give birth to it Daily cradling it like a newborn baby...nurturing it. wanting to forget hidden truths, hidden lies like injections of Syphilis into Blackmens Veins.Not the Tuskegge Experament.
That was the one eyed narrow view In the Head of so called Science for the World to give a Commercially wrapped Package of Epathetic guilt. No there were Hundreds of Thosands more Blackmen who worked for packing companys,construction companys,No names,lost Family's Injected with a master plan for the Almighty Dead presidents.
No you can Never forget!
the History of how many ways Devilish hands dealt their deck of Disaster..
" Now whos is this one?"
The youngins spirit wisper As the Elders Souls and the Ansestors Spirts stay silent.
Hair parted to the side, Fire Engine Red waves saluting up pointing up like a Rooster about to Crow..
Her rangly, gangly,legs puppet like walking the street.
Earphone buds dangle in her ears Marionette strings.
cheap,Thick eyelashes like giant Catapillars waving like Black flags in the wind without a Country.
All exposed in a cheap wife beater about 8months pregnant. Dragging her underweight Guppie of a tot trying to keep up.
Her white matching Designer sneakers proudly Advevtising her Ignorance. making a Billion dollar Fashion industry richer.. As she bounces back from the Foodstamp office.
Who is she?
the Dead youngins who die everyday wispered..to the Ansestors.
who still lay silent.
Because they know we dont know who are are Ourselves.
How can self Hate go so deep?As to destroy your eye color,skin color,hair color and your Colorful Soul.
to a look like a Circus clown. -You cant know who you are.
The stores with wigs, make up, hair an skin oil Gook Presented by The Humble Store Owners who sit Quietly in the back storeroom with their rice cooker,
a few milk crates an board as a table, with tiny peices of fish Artfully blessing bowls of rice with Vegatables
workers disaplynly eat once a day,burn Insence,an put oranges on the Alter over the hanging mop handles.
With happy budda in the middle counting more than the coins in his lap.
Counting Daily Bags.
As our Sad clowns buy their chemicals, dress fly, bling it out,with a 10k gold smile. Fake as their attatude. Sayin "Have a BLESSED DAY!" To their own folk. with the tone of "KISS MY BLACK ASS."
The store owners Dont use or buy any greasy,gel infused,coco butter,facial scrub,jojoba oil moisturizing cream.
or marilyn Monroe Blond wig products on the shelf.
They quietly count their money un noticed. Wearing the same clothes for all seasons of their profit. No Hot style nor cool FAD affects them.
They try to Impress
NO ONE.
tripping over English. Unconcerned with who you are.
We cant forget,..Who WE ARE..
the self hate goes so deep
it tapdances an existence So DEEP
we Dress as clowns.
Shooting our own at RANDOM.
Self hate is so DEEP NOW 2019 We Smother ourselves with a Smolett attatude.
We plot, plan,
Sabatoge,
disrespect,
dismembering ourselves from the inside out.
Leaving a Corpse of History,our struggle our Culture.
Self Hate...2019 goes deeper than brass buttons buried with our Ansestors who fought in the civil war.
Deeper than the frayed nooses soaked with blood or rusted shackles attached on Fleshless bones.
Self Hate deeper than tears of wet Nurses Neglected Never Spent.
Her own Children cried hunger because of the Masters Brutal Appetite.
We cant forget.
The self Hate goes so deep were deaf dumb and blind.
Walking aimlessly arms outstretched reaching,clawing to grasp the Neck of our Own.
The Earth rumbles from the world wide sound of police guns. our guns,Competing Bounty Hunters.
Racism rides Hard-with self Hate. Galloping like the Headless horseman killing our own.
Smell of gunpowder choking the breath of the Next generation.
The price on our heads is cheaper NOW than when we were SOLD on the slave block.
It's the Hood block now. EVERTHING is sold there Manhood womanhood,childhood pride,Respect,Ignorence by the bag.$10 bags,... by the Gram,the pound however much Reality and Dignaty you want to give up.
The color SMOLLETT painted Blackface on your body or whole body for FREE.
Not willing?
Blood will do.Its not worth as much,But you could work a deal with Dealer.
They call him Da Grim Reaper for Short.
But who ARE THEY! The Dead youngins spirits Demand.
Then losing interest staring at the Ansestors Spirits.
As Rain pours on the earth like tears of Centures past.
We dont know who we are.
We've Fogotten.
We got lost..
the music blasts in the ears of the pregnant Rooster.
Yanking her tot across the Avenue crying with Snot like a glass mustache on His lip sneakers untied,tripping an stumbling across the dark street.
As she texts with the other hand
That Fire engine Red Hair like a sign screaming for Help.
"Who is she?" The people crowding around ask after the car plowed into her sparing her child.
Did she know who she was?
The youngins who died to soon,who hated an killed eachother ask.
"Shes one of ours"
the Ansestors Spirits wisper to the dead youngins.
As they Welcome her Home.
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And you are right up to date by referring to Jussie Smollett, black on black crime and other abuses of a kind of self flagellate way of thinking. Makes me wonder, what are we thinking?
You didn't mention tattoos and piercing. They seem to be a way of crying out for attention. I see no other purpose for these ornaments like eyelashes, fingernails, hair extensions and other expensive indulgences you mentioned.
Keep up the good work. Let's hope the sisters hear you.
Ron