Black Poetry - Tumblr Posts

The animal that is most vulnerable is usually the most cruel / It is impossible to separate it from what it remembers

Precious Okoyomon

 sun beats          wind leaps

blood memory

apocalyptic self-image crystallized affections of pious solace                                      emptiness from this ceaseless war

I want to sin against purity

bliss hovering above the void haptic fallout feverish blood

sun beats down wind leaps blood memory cheerful obscene boredom

angel          of              the                    sun

          singing with a hard fist

       life's benevolent corruption        everything is hard against the tongue        everything dissolving        into otherworldly paradise        make heaven my home        I never learn my lesson

preface to a traffic stop: sound

By. Randall Horton 

i always thought sound was meant to indicate a kinda genuine, authentic, absolute individuation, which struck me as A: undesirable—& B: damn near impossible. whereas sound was reality in the midst of this intense engagement with all the sound you ever heard. sound shaped within a climate inciting performance as black matter .or. anti matter, as in against. sound a central body of “sonic” whereas you struggle to make a difference, so to speak, within that sound—& that difference isn’t necessarily about you as an individual but more  simply trying to augment & differentiate the sound around you getting closer & closer to a never-ending where you are the proletariat in somebody else’s melodrama as both spectacle and spectator—as the drama unfolds—hold—hold on.

I like to dance.

I like to sing.

I like to bite the skin off around my fingernails.

I love the taste of vanilla.

I love sad songs.

I like to kiss my own hand and nuzzle it.

I love the first sip of anything cinnamony or pumpkin spice around Autumn.

I love mint and peppermint flavored things during winter.

I love hot chocolate with caramel.

I love the same t-shirt I've had sine middle school of 2017.

I love sitting criss cross.

I like how the floors feel when I lay my back down on it.

I love the first sun of summer.

I love when my back itches and I can reach the itch.

I love being sent memes about my favorite topics.

I love realistic characters and plot lines.

There's a lot to love and like about life. But I still can't seem to shake this sad feeling.

Today I am trying to elevate Black voices. For me, poetry has always been a way to express my truth. Sometimes my truth is beautiful and sometimes it is ugly, but has always been mine, and poetry was how I told the world. These black men and women use poetry to express their truth, and the world needs to hear it. What happened in Minneapolis was a result of years and years of the same thing: white people believing that black lives don't matter. That black voices don't matter. I know I can never do enough to heal the wounds of what white people have done in the past. But I have the responsibility to make sure that black voices are heard today. Because Black Lives have always mattered.

Warm me up on the beach

Left my love on the seats

Reconvene in the sheets

All you have belongs to me

Ask me, I don't love you

Hold me, I might start to

Kiss me now, I need you

I’ll do what she can’t do

You know what I was hopin'? You’d come with me. - Ronnie

Come with you? I don't know. -Caine

I don't see it as such a bad idea. -Ronnie

Why are you so worried about me? -Caine

Why shouldn't I be... Think about leaving, Caine. -Ronnie

I got to thinkin'... -Caine

.i love my hair

I love my hair.

I love it's tight curvature and format.

I love the volume it has.

I love how he looks when it's without definition.

And I sure do love my frizz. It's natural, God knows my work on keeping it hydrated.

And I don't need your opinion on what my hair should look like (I know your only advice is to clog my head with cream until it looks 10% like straight hair; I'm tuned 'bout your tricks)

Fuck, I love my hair.

And no white supremacy can change that.

Fire on racists. <3

Poem 2- Nicotine Demon

˜”*°•.˜”*°• C₁₀H₁₄N₂

That's the formula of death

The nicotine demon

A capitalistic bullet aimed at your lungs

You inject the poison in your mouth

And feed the system built to destroy youth and minorities

Cancer has a price tag and you're buying it

What're you doing? Put it down!

Don't live in the city of fog, where the breaths you take for granted become exotic fantasies

This addiction isn't your friend

It won't save you from momentary problems

It'll lead you to a lifetime of dying every single day

Don't light it up. The fuse of your lifeline is too short to waste. •°*”˜.•°*”˜

Poem 3- My Today, Your Tomorrow

( 𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨 " 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦" 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘴)

𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘫𝘶𝘯𝘬

𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦

𝘖𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬

𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦?

𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺?

𝘐 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸

𝘚𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

𝘊𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺

𝘕𝘦𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘴𝘰

𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘦

𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴

𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳

𝘔𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘻𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳-𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥

𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺

𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘴

𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸

𝘈𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘮𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘢𝘥𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭

𝘠𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯

𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴, 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺

𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵

𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘷𝘦𝘪𝘭𝘴

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘶𝘴

𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘦 𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥

𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦

𝘞𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥

Modern Colonization

You turn our castles into Capitalistic towers

You turn our language into cheap imitations

You turn our communities into forgotten laments

You turn our future into phantasmal dreams

This is the game you have played for generations upon generations

Destroying lands and desecrating cultures all in the name of your conquest of vanity

You oppressor; you colonizer

How long will you stand in envy

Of our heritage

Of our legacy

Of our culture

Of our skin color

Of our existence?

Never in your anger and your spite shall you ever obtain even a fraction of the beauty Mother Nature has gifted upon us

Though you may burn at your self-appointed stake, you shall never possess the eyes of a victim

We are the future you fear

We are th rebels you fail to silence

We are the Capital you shall never obtain.

Nature's Legacy

To be melanated is to be brown

Brown like the most fertile of soil

Brown like the tallest of mountains

Melanin is a tresure

A treasure bestowed upon the chosen

A bronze legacy worth more than any gold

Mother Nature, she made us in her beauty

Beauty that could never be replicated

Beauty that leaves the entire world in awe

Use your voice poem

Never dull the edge of your voice for deafened ears

Instead, sharpen it to pierce through any and all silence

Let there be no quarter for those who try to stifle your words

Because your voice is so much more than a caged bird

My Worth

A mediocre man will take all

Of your kindness

Of your passion

Of your beauty

Without returning a fraction of your love.

Only talk to men who become intoxicated by your essence and compliment your being.

For the first time in a long time I actually believe that I am going to be okay.

For the first time I truly do not care what anyone thinks or says about me.

For the first time I'm finally pouring into me.

Having all 3 of those at the same time is the best feeling anyone could ever have.

My support for other's wasn't because I was a hater and that I didn't want them to make it. I was because I saw that shine and I was mad that I couldn't get that feeling for myself.

I let fear get in the way of that feeling.

But not anymore. 💜

You have to remind yourself to remain soft when life starts to get hard 💜

Langston Hughes' poem, "My People"

Here's Another Poem I wrote

This is one of the two poems that I wrote this year for a black history assembly at my school.

Blind

Can’t see it.

Can’t feel it.

Can’t recognize it.

You’re blind.

You turn away from the struggle of others.

You won’t hear about the injustice.

You pretend it’s all in the past.

You’re blind.

Don’t act like isn’t here.

Don’t act like it isn’t there.

Don’t make-believe it's all gone away.

Don’t look away from all the pain.

Your guilt is telling you to turn away.

Your fear is making you hateful.

Your hate is turning you violent.

Your ignorance has made you blind.

And here comes another poem.

Here's the other poem I wrote for my black history school assembly.

 Unforgettable

We will never forget our brothers,

Malcolm, Martin, and Medger.

And we will never disregard our sisters,

Fannie, Shirley, and Ruby.

We will not forget the anger and hate that was thrust upon Rodney and Emmett.

We will remember the strength of Mamie Till to show the world what happened to her boy.

We will remember Rodney asking the Nation, ”Can we get along?”

We won’t forget the bravery of the Little Rock Nine or the patience of the Greensboro Four.

We will remember the boycotts and the protests,

Along with the dogs and water hoses.

We will not forget the people from the past,

Who wouldn’t give up and fought for their rights. For even those who were not in the spotlight,

Still shine like diamonds.

For they showed courage and determination,

In a time of fear and discrimination.

So let us never erase these people from our memory,

For each and every one of them is unforgettable.