We Are The Ones by Dwayne Morgan
posted by: Dwayne Morgan
We Are The Ones
To be a gift,
Born into this world male,
Packaged in black wrapping paper,
Is to be constantly reminded
That you are disposable,
That your life lacks meaning and value,
And isn’t protected by the law.
There is no pretty bow
Or designs on your packaging;
You live knowing that justice is a drunk
That will not be served.
We, the black gifts,
are the first to be accused
And the last to be believed.
We are the guilty until proven innocent,
The aggressor despite the evidence.
We are the hoops
For which loop holes are made;
The ones who fight daily
For their dignity.
We are the sambos,
The puppets,
Our worth based on the value
We bring our puppeteers,
So dance negro dance,
Rap black boy rap,
Run nigga run,
But what about those of us
Who are regular,
Who are average,
Who don’t have special talents
That society wants or loves,
We are just their packaging,
Bodies wrapped in black skin,
Stuck on modern day plantations
being abused at will,
And people wonder why we seldom smile,
And why it seems like our looks could kill.
We are the ones who put basket balls
In our sons’ palms
Before they can talk,
And only dribble,
With the hope that they will grow
To dribble beyond their packaging.
We are the ones that make elevators go quiet,
Purses and loved ones clenched tighter.
We are the deer that stare
at the barrel of guns,
But there is no license needed to hunt us.
I am the suspicious package
At the airport,
Or in any store with goods
That we aren’t supposed to be able to afford,
Whether I’m in a hoodie or a suit;
Accused of driving while black
In mini vans or coups.
We are the black licorice
discarded at Halloween,
The silhouette
used for target practice by the police.
We are the black men
Who want nothing more
Than to be Human,
With respect and dignity;
So this is for every Trayvon, Jaekwon,
Marcus, Jordan, Dwayne,
Every gift wrapped in black skin,
Considered a nigger
Despite having a name.
This is for everyone
who feels the pain of race,
for the empty seat
Beside a black man on the train.
We are the ones who cry constantly
When we see,
People being killed for no reason
Who look just like me.
We are the ones who meet death
On cold asphalt,
Discarded like road kill.
We are the ones;
Worthless gifts,
Packaged in black wrapping paper
That nobody wants.
We are the voiceless.
We are the ones.
@dwayne_morgan
To be a gift,
Born into this world male,
Packaged in black wrapping paper,
Is to be constantly reminded
That you are disposable,
That your life lacks meaning and value,
And isn’t protected by the law.
There is no pretty bow
Or designs on your packaging;
You live knowing that justice is a drunk
That will not be served.
We, the black gifts,
are the first to be accused
And the last to be believed.
We are the guilty until proven innocent,
The aggressor despite the evidence.
We are the hoops
For which loop holes are made;
The ones who fight daily
For their dignity.
We are the sambos,
The puppets,
Our worth based on the value
We bring our puppeteers,
So dance negro dance,
Rap black boy rap,
Run nigga run,
But what about those of us
Who are regular,
Who are average,
Who don’t have special talents
That society wants or loves,
We are just their packaging,
Bodies wrapped in black skin,
Stuck on modern day plantations
being abused at will,
And people wonder why we seldom smile,
And why it seems like our looks could kill.
We are the ones who put basket balls
In our sons’ palms
Before they can talk,
And only dribble,
With the hope that they will grow
To dribble beyond their packaging.
We are the ones that make elevators go quiet,
Purses and loved ones clenched tighter.
We are the deer that stare
at the barrel of guns,
But there is no license needed to hunt us.
I am the suspicious package
At the airport,
Or in any store with goods
That we aren’t supposed to be able to afford,
Whether I’m in a hoodie or a suit;
Accused of driving while black
In mini vans or coups.
We are the black licorice
discarded at Halloween,
The silhouette
used for target practice by the police.
We are the black men
Who want nothing more
Than to be Human,
With respect and dignity;
So this is for every Trayvon, Jaekwon,
Marcus, Jordan, Dwayne,
Every gift wrapped in black skin,
Considered a nigger
Despite having a name.
This is for everyone
who feels the pain of race,
for the empty seat
Beside a black man on the train.
We are the ones who cry constantly
When we see,
People being killed for no reason
Who look just like me.
We are the ones who meet death
On cold asphalt,
Discarded like road kill.
We are the ones;
Worthless gifts,
Packaged in black wrapping paper
That nobody wants.
We are the voiceless.
We are the ones.
@dwayne_morgan
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| These are my sons and I'm not losing any of them to bullshit! We stay focussed. We stay strong. We are PHX. We are Trayvon! |
