16 Dec “This Poem [is Racist]”
This poem is racist.
It’s racist
and racism goes both ways.
Needless to say—nobody really cares.
The same few people
stand for the same few issues.
The College Republicans plot in secret meetings
on how they can get a rise out of the Black Student Union.
They say, “Wouldn’t it be cool to have an All-White Scholarship?
Requirement for eligibility—write an essay on why you are proud
of your White heritage. You must also submit
a recent photo to confirm Whiteness.”
All this to prove that slave days are passed
and they have their equality.
The Black Student Union plots in their meetings
on how they can get the Black athletes
to come to a meeting
or maybe stop chasing White girls around
long enough to notice that they
are a needed portion of the campus population.
They say, “We are not about to throw another party.
Why should we have to convince Black people
that they need to be active in the community?
They should already know it, and want to help out.”
All this to prove that slave days are passed
and they are on one accord.
This poem is racist.
It’s racist
and racism goes both ways.
Needless to say—nobody really cares.
The same few people
stand for the same few issues.
It’s racist because I’m Black
and I want to date who I want to without repercussions.
It sounds ridiculous saying it,
but it will be a real problem for me to live
in a racist world with a White wife and children
who will be in this same world that will pit them
against themselves on a daily basis.
When the ultimate hate happens,
they will have to choose sides,
and my youngest may be responsible
for the murder of my eldest,
because he related to his mother a little bit
more than he related to me.
It’s racist of me to even believe that
the woman I will love enough to marry
will be capable of that ultimate hate
that will make her have to choose sides
when it actually does happen.
It’s racist because I might like White girls,
and like sometimes turns into love,
and you can’t help who you love,
or hate for that matter, and my hate makes me
hate myself because I know that hate will keep me
from being with who I like or love
if she so happens to be White.
I don’t like the idea of my relationships
being dictated by so many people
who I don’t know and don’t know me,
but are so certain that I am just like the rest of them.
It’s racist because that White College Republican
joins the school’s “multicultural” choir,
that consists of all Black students and him,
and really believes that he’s doing his part for the cause.
I guess they’re all doing us such a big favor, in reality,
by letting us exist on this big ball of dirt that we all came from,
and all of our kids are a cause, because we were a cause.
We were a cause because
our Black fathers were gone,
teaching us to need a father figure.
Any male authority figure—
even some White man who despised us—
whose daughter we sought to make him proud
of our transition to manhood,
despite our boyish actions;
neglecting the Black girl who reminded us
so much of our lonely, crying mother.
I mean, why would we want to be with a woman
so unhappy?
So angry?
Full of so much rage and tears?
She didn’t like Black men any more
than she taught us to love Black women.
If she did, he wouldn’t have left.
You see, it’s not only Black athletes
who like White girls,
just like it’s not only College Republicans
who think all Black folks are looking for a handout.
There are plenty of Black folks
who think all Black folks are looking for a handout.
People who thought and still think a Black person will never
be a suitable candidate for the presidency of this country
because that issue hits too close to home.
He will never be articulate enough.
He will never be honest enough.
He will never be White enough [even if he is half].
He will never be that father figure.
But, go ahead and cheer—you got your handout, and he’s here
and he’s here, and he’s hear, and he’s here,
and I hear Niggas cheerin’ “My president is Black!
My Lambo’s blue, and I’ll be God damned if my rims ain’t too.
My Momma ain’t at home and my Daddy still in jail.
I’m try’n a make a plate. Anybody seen the scale.”
Because the president has to support the drug trade, right?
I mean, he’s black, ain’t he?
And while he’s your Nigga, he’s somebody else’s monkey.
Yes. The president is Black.
And you say he’s yours, meaning that he’s not theirs
but I’m looking forward and I’m scared because prayers
are what we need more than Rap songs.
Because at home—he’s being president
and you’re being you,
but let’s look back at history, when Negro was new
and Nigga was in the rearview,
appearing closer than anyone actually wanted to believe, these were issues:
Niggas versus Negroes
Savages versus Black men
Rappin’ against Jazzin’
now we are back to square one.
And this dilemma boiled down to
if you are not a part of the solution, you are a part of the problem
the New Negro is American, no hyphen
and this president is as American as every White man that came before him.
If you can get yourself to believe that kind of thing.
All this to prove slave days are passed
and Willie Lynch was just a myth.
This poem is racist.
It’s racist
and racism goes both ways.
Needless to say—nobody really cares.
The same few people
stand for the same few issues.
It’s racist because no one can
come up with an equivalent
word to Nigger for White folks,
and if they could and did
it would be used so much
that White folks would begin to believe
that it was their name or title,
and after 400 years or so
White boys would be calling each other
this name and passing it off
as a term of endearment,
saying that it’s not the word that’s offensive,
but the way you use it.
There would be a group of
all White rappers who would record an album
entitled, “The Word” For Life
and they would be called “The Word” With Attitudes,
or something different
like “The Word” With Parents With Large Bank Accounts
because it’s an assumption that
“Niggaz” have “Attitudes”
and they wanted to make it known
that it was okay to take that assumption
and capitalize off of it
so why wouldn’t White boys
start owning up to
what society assumes about them.
All this to prove that slave days are passed
and racism is extinct.
This poem is racist.
It’s racist
and racism goes both ways.
It’s racist because
we think that it can only go two ways.
Needless to say—nobody really cares.
The same few people
stand for the same few issues
and ignore each other.
I wish that this poem could be more racist.
More racist than Willie Lynch
More racist than the Red Summer
More racist than Watts, Chicago, and L.A.
More racist than Springfield in ‘08
More racist than O.J.’s verdict
More racist than Emmett Till’s
More racist than the term ‘reverse racism’
because racism is just ‘racism’
More racist than racism could even stand.
I mean, if we could just be so racist that we could
get comfortable enough with racism
that we could believe that this world is just destined
to be racist, and there’s nothing that could be done about it,
maybe we could start to admit that it’s racist
and use racism as a form of endearment
so when a White person kills a Black person
or vice versa, we don’t try to come up with a spin on the story
we could just be reminded that the world is racist.
Then it wouldn’t be a matter of the act being racist,
it would only matter how the racism occurred.
We wouldn’t have to admit to ever or never
using any hurtful words
or even explain why we did.
It would be expected.
This poem is racist
and I want it to start the trend of racist poems
that make racism chic
or beautiful
and artistic.
I want this poem to be that pain
so maybe we could spend
a little less time denying that it exists.
All this to prove that slave days are passed
but we haven’t moved forward.
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