I read at a
I was in
But I especially irked her spirit…
“You little Black Boys
in training – at best”
it was the retort
It was steady drip
But my Father told
“You remember that son.”
“It will be more like her, you won’t escape it Youngblood, your skin ain’t no sin… but when you figure how to convert that ugly (racism) into your fuel… you’ll be more powerful than some cartoon man* running around in his drawers. You gotta learn to brutalize them with your mind.”*I believe he was referring to He-Man and the Masters of the Universe.
And… I always remembered that –
I channeled my anger
to convert the omnipresent darts
of racism into
a fuel source
I became impervious to the torrential storms of inferiority complexes.
I rejected the hexes.
And… I learned to
taking my power back for those who
meant me harm.
I guess my nemesis in the form of my Middle Teacher was right.
I did become a hoodlum… the worst sort.
An author… a hoodlum for words.