the ending still hasn't come together...it feels about as frustrated as i do lately, so i suppose that's saying something.

i am starting a crusade against
black-is-beautiful poems

i am tired of
having to restate the obvious
take brown skin lady breaks at work
to remind myself that
there is a beholder
who deems me

no more
nubian queens & kingmen
...and not just 'cause
we can't all be royalty
but 'cause trayvon can't read
and keisha's pregnant
by mama's new man

that ain't
nowhere near hotep

read me
agricultural poetry
i wanna learn
how to grow food that
won't kill my babies

i wanna write sonnets
on basket weaving and
garment sewing
sing the songs i should have tried
to learn
when mommy sang them to me

'cause if we can ever put down
the xbox long enough and
tune out the false prophets and
corrupted griots and
get brave
start the revolution

(of picking up a book
of raising--not just loving-- our children
of loving ourselves
of fighting our enemies
of redefining our miseducation)

all them pretty words
won't fill our bellies

uncompromising self-love
ain't always profitable
nor does it keep up appearances
when company comes

we got to be ready
we got to be strong
we got to be useful
like the ancestors' art

make beauty
serve us
...slaves to vanity
are so 1984

we are

(c) 2005 l.a.m.

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