Please see the video for my recent poem, “Astray Beauty” above! The poem is reminding everyone that there is no such thing as, “knowing the exact path you are supposed to be on in life”. We are all lost. We all wake up to a day without having any ideas of what it has in store for us. But, in a way, that makes life a little beautiful. That makes you beautiful.
You are one gorgeous person Physically. And you are just as beautiful On the inside, too.
You’re just a little, “not straight” in the head But, that’s okay. I’m not too sure of my path in life Either. And that’s okay.
I guess I can go ahead and say Someone has to have a Dangerous level of pride To stand up and claim: “I know exactly what path I am to be on In this life!”
The thing about life is There is no “straight path” to follow. They just put you in this life With an infinite amount of paths to pursue While, since the beginning of it, Everything is, in a way, persuading you To follow a path different from the other.
Which never made it easy to choose.
So, don’t be surprised. You’re lost. But so am I. So is all of us.
There’s no way someone can claim They’ve found themselves In this vast Earth they’ve been littered into. But I think that’s okay.
That’s what makes it beautiful, In a way. That’s what makes you beautiful.
This poem is saying black people need to stop looking to God/religion to save them from racism. God is not going to save black people from the oppressive society and world they live in. Black people need to stop waiting on God to save them. Instead, black folks have to figure out their own ways to save themselves from this racist world. Therefore, black people have got to stop spending so much time and money in the church.
God works on a different time than humans. If we want change, we need to stop giving ourselves momentary gratification by praying and paying the church (then going back to our old ways). Invest in yourselves, invest in your black communities, invest in your black friends and family, not the church.
What happens after justice is served? Will the dust settle? And so we move on to the next case
Do we mourn? Do we make laws? Do we make donations in large sums hoping the currency would heal the dead?
What do we do after justice has been served?
Do we take till the end of a lifetime to investigate made-up probabilities? Shifting our gaze, away from the bloody truth Do we impose charges and punishments for the collateral damage? But not the damage Do we find space in the jails for civilians? Is that why we always run out of space for justice
What do we do after justice has been served?
Does a killer walk free? From a murderous job? A sentence for murder. Do we erect new leaders? Will they lead to justice? When do we stop protesting?
What do we do after justice has been served?
Do we erect monuments in memory? Do we tell stories of glory, innocence, and a righteous life? Do we capture portraits with no imperfections?
What do we do after justice has been served?
Do young, healthy, angelic and prideful black women get reminded of their worth? That it’s not worth it. Do black mothers hold the phone closer, with their hearts tighter, when their black children are out of sight? Perhaps sleeping. Do black parents have to have the conversation with their black kids again, for the x time-in-a-row? About justice.
How, in this country—and this planet— It doesn’t belong to them. We can’t save your life, even though you save their life.
What do we do after justice has been served?
What do we do after justice has been served?
What do we do after justice has been served?
What do we do? Now that justice has been served
Do we not know? Is that why justice has yet to be served?
Elijah Jovan McClain (February 25, 1996 – August 30, 2019) was a 23-year-old black massage therapist from Aurora, Colorado, who died after being placed in a chokehold by police and being sedated by paramedics. On August 24, 2019, an Aurora citizen reported to police that McClain was wearing a ski mask and looked “sketchy”, although the caller also indicated that he did not believe anyone was in danger, and that he believed McClain was unarmed. The three police officers who were involved in the incident, Nathan Woodyard, Jason Rosenblatt and Randy Roedema, said that their body cameras were knocked off during a struggle with McClain. McClain was forcibly held to the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back, after which an officer applied a chokehold and paramedics administered ketamine to McClain to sedate him. While being transported to the hospital McClain went into cardiac arrest. Three days after arriving at the hospital, he was declared brain dead, and was removed from life support on August 30. McClain’s autopsy was inconclusive.
I wonder if Elijah McClain had a future Perhaps he’d grow out of his shell From behind the mask, invite others into his own world
Or maybe not. Because I think he was perfect. The way he was. And the world thought so, too.
I wonder if Elijah McClain had a future At 23, very much like me, I wonder if he was formulating his big bad plan to take over the world In the future. As we all do, as we’re all doing, at that age.
I wonder if Elijah McClain was ever afraid That maybe all his plans would come to nothing All his deeds would go to waste Because he wouldn’t finally arrive at his future; his 30s. And perhaps his 40s I wonder if Elijah McClain was ever afraid That he’d be killed on his path to his future And that the world would bring no justice to that.
I wonder if Elijah McClain had a future I wonder if he’d initiate a Massage Therapy non-profit Open its doors to the local communities of the hard working people of Colorado Who, perhaps, couldn’t afford a massage But were in great need of one. Free of charge. Freeing them from their charge.
I wonder if he’d amount to being a world class guitar player Maybe a highly sought-after violinist
I wonder if Elijah McClain would, one day, finally be offered the opportunity to perform on a world tour But he’d kindly reject the offer Because there are too many people in the audience He’d rather stay behind his mask Where he’s safe Where it’s okay.
Or maybe he’d reject such prestigious offer for other reasons Maybe Elijah McClain felt more comfortable performing in an animal shelter, where Anxious cats and dogs who knew how to value him Were his only audience. Or maybe, perhaps, he’d reject this paramount offer because He wanted to focus on one day starting a homeless shelter Maybe a full-service therapy home Because Lord knows Elijah McClain was put on Earth for the good deed of soothing our anxiety Until he was taken away.
Black kids have the right to dream. They have the right to achieve these dreams And live a full life. Feeling accomplished.
I wonder if Elijah McClain had a future I wonder if he foresaw himself growing up—like we all do. Imagine himself becoming successful With a stable job. Perhaps, a happy family, living in a nice neighborhood With trees, gardens, clear skies Because as a child in America, although Black, he has the right to that.
I wonder if he thought what happened to Emmett Till was not right And that it didn’t matter that, years later, the lady apologized Just like his.
You know, every little Young Black Child Young Adult We’re all Elijah McClain.
Elijah Jovan McClain (February 25, 1996 – August 30, 2019) was a 23-year-old black massage therapist from Aurora, Colorado, who died after being placed in a chokehold by police and being sedated by paramedics.On August 24, 2019, an Aurora citizen reported to police that McClain was wearing a ski mask and looked “sketchy”, although the caller also indicated that he did not believe anyone was in danger, and that he believed McClain was unarmed. The three police officers who were involved in the incident, Nathan Woodyard, Jason Rosenblatt and Randy Roedema, said that their body cameras were knocked off during a struggle with McClain. McClain was forcibly held to the ground with his hands cuffed behind his back, after which an officer applied a chokehold and paramedics administered ketamine to McClain to sedate him. While being transported to the hospital McClain went into cardiac arrest. Three days after arriving at the hospital, he was declared brain dead, and was removed from life support on August 30. McClain’s autopsy was inconclusive.
I hate wasting time AND I want to have more time, so I make slight changes to fulfill this desire.
One being: waking up very early to get a head start on my day. It’s necessary for my ambition. I have to give my mind time to buffer, feel free. Time to think.
But when I wake up so early in the morning, Like around 6am I do think, but damn I can’t say I’m happy with what I unnoticeably think about
These scenes start playing in my head: Potential encounters with the police, that a… Black person is subjected to. All the time that I meant to give myself; That I work so hard to earn Tic away as these thoughts flood my brain
How will I come to my end? What will be the black man’s crime, this time?
Will I be guilty—you know, punishable by death— Because I felt more comfortable with a mask on? Will my execution happen after I’ve been woken up from my restful night? But then to find out it was actually the wrong address But it’s always the wrong address It’s always the wrong weapon It’s always the wrong decision But a life is taken, and in life there is no takebacks. Maybe carrying snacks home is punishable by death. I don’t know But, in reality, I know my only crime is being black, Something to warrant a false accusation that’ll get my neck kneed on
By now over 30 minutes have passed of me just standing in my bathroom Lost in pensiveness Toothpaste sagging off the toothbrush numbly held in my left hand
I really hope it does not end this way. So I practice Rerun the possible encounters in my head; prepare for all the scenarios Because, well, this is not a drill—Niggas really dying out here. So I look in the mirror, and I imagine: I could comply if I am told to stay calm as there are guns and yells aimed at me; I would obey if 3, or even 6, police officers were stomping on me—pressing me down While ordering me to stop moving
I could do it. I’m sure. But I’m also sure they each thought the same thing, and yet…
By now, maybe an hour has already passed I’m tired of seeing images in the mirror. I wonder what my white friends do with all their time? Especially the miscellaneous time spent not involuntarily imagining themselves in deadly situations warranted by the color of their skin
What do you do with all your extra time?
The time I spend looking at my black body in the mirror Imagining the unending innovative possibilities of how I may die, legally murdered; lynched
What do white people do with all their extra time?
Do you leverage that time to, perhaps, take control over a society? Maybe rule a world? Create schemes to push those that are not you further below And then have them point fingers at each other?
Every morning, I wake up like 2 hours earlier than I really need to. I want to fuel my ambition Give myself time to chase those big dreams You know, do the impossible. But, instead, I just walk around–air in my head My body stuck. Mind in imagination. And I think, I think; I imagine, I imagine; I wonder, I wonder Without noticing that 3 hours has already passed Plus I still have to write this poem… Maybe that is why we’re always behind.
Sometimes I look at the skies and I wonder if the stars think they can do better If they only bother with matters beyond human comprehension, beyond imagination. Inquiries that are of such value and divinity That the smartest beings on Earth must bend back their necks in an un natural way to look, estimate, peek, deduct, intake All of the lights.
And yet still not scratching the surface.
I wonder if they’ve already forgotten That they too Used to be a part of Earth. A slave of this planet ruled by societies that swear Swear.
As if possibilities were really at their fingertips. As if they know. As if they could know. As if their dreams are not really nothing But dreams.
I wonder if the stars have forgotten That they too Used to be Human.
The only proof of imperfection.
Have they evolved this far? Where the existence of other creatures are irrelevant? Merely a commodity in supporting their existence; Replaceable. Plentiful.
I wonder if they surveil down from their stools and pedestals Then cast judgements. Laugh with one another Discuss theory with thunder While forgetting That they too Used to be me:
Starring up. Pondering. Wondering
If the stars laugh out loud Louder At us. To compress the guilt of leaving behind nothing To teach us better.
So, in a way, they oil this cycle As our sins come from the same Bible Passed on to children. Grand children. Generations. Civilizations. Time periods.
You should’ve known better You should’ve taught us better! Leave behind a map. A letter A blueprint
