On the easel of this skin

I was told
by a former
colleague on Instagram.

“I bypass some
of your content
because it is too black.

How is that?
First of all.

I have few
fucks
to spare & I don’t have the strength or patience.

This is a story of humanity.
against the
easel of
my skin.

If it isn’t for you.

Then why
the need
to speak?

But.

My content about
the resilience
that I had
to wield
in a world
that seemed to revile
my presence.

“Little Black Boy
stay in your
place –
inhabit the box.“

Those shouts must echo
for those
who come
after me.

These souls.
Black boys.

I feel the pangs
as I am
not oblivious
to the pain.

I speak.

As a reminder
to them.

What happens
when you
convert that
which is intended
to destroy
into your
fuel.

I was told by my Father (often)… “keep your nose in these books Youngblood, these words they will save your life… watch what I tell you!”

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