I want to know of my ancestors.
Yet the epic of colonialism,
Has for generations,
On multiple lines, kept faces, names, and ties
From kith and kin;
Kept us inextricably separated by imagined borders;
Separated with skins and flags of
fabricated colors;
Holding weapons and wealth
Unequal, unequitable,
As motive
For a status quo of harm,
Because just maybe one day
One of “us” will be on the “winning” team,
With change in pocket
And blood on hands;
Yet when in the moment of judgment
Will you be able to
Confess honestly
If any of it was worth it,
As we finally face our

I See Us (Colors)

I look at our daughter

And I see


I see


I see


But the world,

Petty and shallow

Sees only monochrome,

Sees not the sunken space under eye that is


AND the straight chestnut hair

That is you,

The smile like cupids bow

From me

The sharp eyebrow arch from you,

The cheeks,

The small ears– Of my father

The chin,

The height,

The perfect creation

In combination of us,

Can’t they see?

Can’t they see?

Can’t they see beyond


And white?

Yes, they are Colorblind,


The spectrum,

To hues never before seen,

The hues that  were made from you AND me.

The hue that is, she.

They’ll deny me,

Deny you,

Deny us “parent,”

Because they cannot dare to see,

What is right in front of them,

Dare to believe,

Dare to accept



Justice by Homicide

I will not look upon

A young boy being slain,

Further trauma  is not in the healing,


Is not working.

The mission changes, but the purpose never did,

To cage,  enslave,  end black and brown bodies,

This justice was never just,

It was always just

law and order

–Property protection at any cost,

We will blame the victim,

Will interrogate their life,

Ignoring the bottom line,

Innocent until proven guilty,

And justice is not decided by the police.

A knee,

a choke hold

a tazer-a pistol,

TOmato- tomAto,

At the end of the day

Another dark one dead,

Justice by Homicide,

Another case is at end.


Sweet Land of Liberty

My country tis of thee
Sweet land of liberty
Of hate I sing,
Of fascism and violence,
White supremacy born,
This is what you’ve always shown,
Only victims see,
Your ideals are ideas,
your system, systemic
oh sweet land
my criticizicism biting
my love enduring
for what you have yet to be,
for what I believe remains possible,
sweet land of liberty

Stacey Abrams

I am pigmented,
My color sets me apart, casts me out,
Of inclusion to this monolith of democracy,
Where I must work for a right that is supposedly given,
I cast my ballot,
And feel the power in the pen
In the slide as it is counted,
And the anxiety over whether it’s really included,

My selection wins,
And still opposition demands more,
A recount, a means, a way,
Of disqualifying me and the like-minded voters,
We must barter for peace as our representatives confirm
The process is
Just one more ballot,
One more hanging chad,
One more missed mark to prove something is amiss,

But a black man won the seat in Georgia,
Damn now she’s colored blue,
Just one more recount,
One more way to trick the eye,
That won’t stop watching,
That has been trained not to trust,
From centuries of color-coded democratic process,
Featuring parlor tricks of poll taxes,
Id laws,
Limited sites to do your civic duty,
Threats of,
And Death,
Ancestors knew all of it,
So show me a true patriot,
She doesn’t need horns nor face paint,
To show her warrior pose.


We’re all awake now,
The veil has been lifted,
It’s time to choose sides
Of history,
This is when out legacy is written,
By when we choose to speak,
And what we choose to say,
Or whose life we will lay down for,
Or if we’ll look at this
As just another day.