civil rights movement
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So many colored faces in a crowd set in 1960s apartheid. There was beats and poets that rang and sang of being black. The stars could burn your hair off.
My earrings are heavy despite how high they hang up. And my headband’s telling everyone my name St.
Fannie Lou’s black Breath told how colored had a right
Silence in the classroombells ring in my earsPatience, to the bathroomI cry ‘til I disappearwhy why, why me.why’s my name Bullseyedo I look like a candy, canecolored, blackred, or white
It’s rage, color, and quiet. It’s emotion, imagery, and sound. It’s the movement of a breath-taking riot. It’s the goal of so very many found.
Negro, dark skinned or black. They know not my name, they don't know jack. Basing their opinions on me, Off of solely my color scheme. It is unfair, it isn't right. But who am I, to pick a fight?
The darkness closes in. The bag is tight around my face. Breathing is difficult. Fear is choking. The light floods in "We're free," they say. Votes, buses, bathrooms, parks; We can all share.
Through my eyes, I see warriors, fighting for battles in unity. Fighting for color, fighting for peace, and for rightful humanity. No guns, no knives, just armed with souls that weep for equality;
A Throne A chair that entails great power Power to destroy Power to heal Power to free From this seat exudes authority A tyranny Or a movement Only the seated decides