MotherBird - Hakimah Malam

I asked my Mother if I could create a school presentation about where we came....

Someway, somehow, a splatter of gold
Coats us young girls field of walking

We sprint, run for a decade or two
Trying to shed the landmark back to dirt brown

At least our skins never left us muddy
Our cornrows tightened leaving our heads.

They took our color to magazine covers
At least keep our shade as rugged as history

At least show how we swallowed a country
Or two to achieve its tint.

It's not too hard of a crack to
Break a stereotype or two.

Too many 1970’s air your generation has swept
I say I've never seen it cut so thin.

The barrier of blue blood escaping the whips
Of child rain aligning with silver truth

As they didn't make it to see an afternoon
Or the dryness of a full moon cycle.

And with this I refuse,
For your call of my name should never be

Slim like the boys back home.
Skinned dead with a noose

As your only legacy.
A tie of your daunting hands backwards

With tears bolting from your brown eyelids
So I refuse.

Tell your class my history in a book
And let the sting rhyme with wrongs and raids.

But don't tell them your origin
was planted with red, green, and gold.

Tell them we have 50 stars instead of one.
Tell them my bruises were making America great again.

As long as the glazes of your words
Don't end in our hands tied

Just keep your tongue tied and buried
For your family's safety.