My People — A Poem
Inspired by a class poetry reading
My people are not a monolith
We are a variety of cocoa-colored, henna—hued,
mahogany-coated people connected to a continent
that was denied to us for centuries, our enslaved
ancestors toiled on plantations for masters who treated
them like toys, playthings to be bent & broken
My people knew of empires, they were kings & queens
ruling vast lands, developing ways to survive & thrive
thousands of years before the European invasion,
Africa was a collection of kingdoms, the cradle
of civilization, scholars & warriors whose knowledge
was stolen to strengthen European invaders
My people overcame oppression, strived through
struggle, & bonded over those who tried to break us,
our lives today are a gift from our parents, our grandparents,
& our great-grandparents who forged a path for us, leading
us towards freedom they didn’t have
My people, citizens of this country, America, though
its treatment of us is anti-American, carry trauma like
the sky carries the stars, our hue is hunted, our flesh
is a fetish, our skin is a sin, we’re a threat to be silenced
or locked away until our voices become echoes on the wind
My people, we love hard, we live hard, we know joy & pain,
we know the sun kisses our melanin, I love my skin, I love
the history that my hue holds, my people come in all shades,
we are light & bright, damn near white & coffee-toned bodies,
glowing like midnight suns, my people know triumph & defeat,
cold days without heat, empty fridges & growling stomachs,
minds aching for knowledge & substandard education, but my
people in this age , still created authors & educators, lawyers &
police officers, preachers & pundits, we are creators & creatives,
we are everywhere our energy touches, leaving our mark
