Baptized a Baptist
You’d think I’d be right at home
Born a good Christian soldier
You’d think I’d be a son of de South
Always a true Southerner warrior
You’d think I’d never want to D-part
I look up, they just look away …

I count tiny broken pieces of their mere
Reflections tell me of a cantankerous history
I see savage heat rays, savage ways
I can see why they still look down …
I watch them spewing excuses -
Like an Alabama poop farmer on New Year’s Eve!

I look up, they just look away
Its like their hearts are there below
Shattered dreams are what they preach
They look like those who made them frown …
I ask them if, I can have some of their light
Not a word, like they’re mad and want to fight
I ask them if, they can see my light
They say, “Always, hide your talents by night!”

They see broken pieces on my path
Saying, “Boy don’t make no plans!”
I look up, they look down …
Saying, “Boy you just a clown!”
Nup! I look them right in their weak eye!
I won’t be type cast or played -
By fools trained to fail!
And they almost cry!

Baptized a Baptist
I continue to pray every day
Born a good Christian soldier
I preach away!
Baptized a Baptist
Ordained a Man
I sweep all their broken pieces away

Now, I am a Methodist, I say …
Then, I continue marching - my way!

I know I almost never explain the motives behind my poems, but this time I will make an exception. I am in Birmingham, Alabama and like any good poet and historian, I study these people - in fact, my people. (In college I wanted to be a history major, but couldn‘t get my scholarship with a non-technical major). Some things are good, many are bad. Its hard for me to put in words my sweet oppressed still Alabamians (Blacks mostly oppressed by themselves because of their VALID fears of the past.) My heart bleeds for them because I observe their sadness, their fear, their confusion, their Klan worship (or White man worship if you prefer), their self doubt, their cruelty, their white-like arrogance (sorry good white peeps - truth), and mostly their inability to leap beyond their fear. I recently heard, yes, Martin Luther King Jr. and yes Malcolm X together at the end of a wonderful cable movie called "Homecoming" perfectly describe these people, my people with scary accuracy. Frankly, these people can’t understand why I continue to be the man that I am even after they have torture me endlessly. They simply can not comprehend it. Its sad. They actually believe after all this time, they can remake me in their own image. Correct me if I am wrong, but isn’t that God’s job?

No one can define who you are!