First they came for my color, I was considered corruptive, despicable, and unholy. “Soiled, stained, scowling, wicked, dismal, disgrace.”

I didn’t confront, because that’s the definition of black.
Then they came for my eyes, coursing veins hugging my pure, crystal white globes.

I didn’t confront, because I was already blind.
Then they came for my blood… while it was still blue… while it was fresh, fluid, flowing protein.

I didn’t confront, because I had already been drained.
Then they came for my skin… colored with its wickedness.

I didn’t confront, because I had already shed like the animal I was told.
Then they came for me. Left Vulnerable.
I didn’t confront, because I was my bare apish hands. Shackled… imprisoned By a Price Tag.
I was not white.
I was blind from all the tears that my eye lids cradled from
my lost babies.
My African blood, now jived to the rhythm and the drum rolls of death.
Kept on a leash… a black lab… like the dog I am.


2010…
And my Ancestors still bleeds history.