My dark, sultry, skin

is never neglected.

Filled with melanin–

divinely connected.


Beautiful black people

love your earth tones,

for they are staples

of ancient thrones.


The original emperors

were dipped in pure soil.

Our lands and empires

were rich in gold and oil.




our own kings fight

against each other.

I wonder if they think its right

to murder a brother.


I wonder if they forgot

all those that died for cotton.

I wonder if they can spot

where the real damage is done.


A system made to cage

our kings in iron cells,

filling them with rage–

creating generation spells.



The cycle of black on black crime is more heartbreaking than racism. When your own people point a gun at you, I wonder if you can feel your ancestor’s sobbing in horror. Knowing, that the oppressors that fed them hate for years, has now placed that hatred in the hearts of their children.





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Posted by:A'Isha Adams

Mind of a frantic poet. Ambition of an entrepreneur. The heart of an old soul.

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