Who Am I? Classified, Dignified, Portrayed Condemned. Who? I?
I’m not confined to a field of erratic, inane dreams scattered like dead leaves
Destined to Blow away into world of uncertainty & subliminal ambiguity
Who? I? Not Me?
He says I’m BLACK, Impertinent. Destined to Fiasco & Death. Limitation & Incarceration & she says I am inadequately less than she. She blinks & quivers at my proximity. She doesn’t say, but she thinks I’m pre-destined to her welfare system, the ghetto & the government’s section of eight counts of “you’re poor”
They stare me up and down with profound enmity. Wishing & waiting for an epic down fall. A stereotypical failure that will impede, destroy & mislead a courageous yet “precarious” dream
I have to maintain. Not for he & not for She
But for him. The one who protected & believed in the Acceleration & ameliorating of that dream. That one dream that he never Knew. But he still believed.
I’ll rise above a statistic & tenaciously transcend any repulsive wish for a disruptive mislead.
I’ll do it. Not for he & not for she but for her who stood in the crowd and risked her life just to hold her fist & cry “I’m Black & I’m Proud”
She believed, He Dreamed. Why shouldn’t we?
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