Self Hate

Somewhere in a America a black person is saying “that’s some nigga shit”
And a white person repeats the same thing
And a black person calls is racist
But doesn’t realize the worst hate is self hate and maybe that’s why my hair is straight.
I am a product of this countries rise and demise.
The bloody tears from my ancestors eyes.
Who needs people to hate us when we learned to hate ourselves?
My mom says my hair is heat damaged.
So when I wear my naps I have to tuck away the straight spots that reveals how soiled our culture is.
I’d never cut my hair because I don’t want to fit the definition of “bald-headed black girl”
That thought makes me insecure.
Self hate runs deep the moment you realize you can manage weave, but can’t manage what grows out your scalp.
You can blow 50+ on a bundle but can’t spend 20 on shampoo and conditioner for your hair texture.
A nigga rides for his niggas but he’s still calling his niggas “niggas”
Still shooting other niggas.
Racism starts at home and home is your body and your body is a temple turned into a subway.
Then you wonder why they call black girls easy.
They say strength is in numbers and unity.
But our numbers are low and we only unite on social media to show what the white man did wrong.
You can’t blame the white man for everything when you subject yourself and make it look okay to subject you.
Our history changed the world, so why are we changing it back?
Why is my school and neighborhood mostly black?
Is it because whites and blacks can’t learn together or is it because we segregate ourselves?
It makes it easier to hate ourselves.
Their used to be music, not bullshit on beats.
Not niggas like Boddy Shmurder and Rich Homie Quan who sound like they didn’t finsh elementary school.
And this is what you guys look up too.
Thugged out nobodies who are still nobody even when they have money.
Money doesn’t make the person.
Intelligence, maturity, and self respect do
But we lost all that.
We traded all that in for guns and being trap stars.
We fight blue and red but wasn’t it blue coats and red coats who put us in front to die in the civil war?
First into battle, that wasn’t even meant for us.
Somewhere in America a black person is saying “that’s some nigga shit”
Well you made it nigga shit.

When My Rock Is Gone

I always relied on one person to hold me up when I’m falling down and some say I’m setting myself up for disaster but disaster is all I’ve know for a while.
As long as I knew his heart was beating and his hand was tangled in mine, I guess disaster didn’t seem so scary.
I guess having a something to fall on really does cushion the blow.

But what happens when that pillow is pulled from under you and all you have is yourself to fall on?

Friends can’t understand like he can, not even the best and I would give anything to be laying on his chest.

In a perfect world, I’d be able to disappear and come back when its all ok.
In a perfect world, I wouldn’t haveto face these demons alone for this period of time.

A short period that I know is going to feel like a million empty summers without a hint of sun.
They told me its okay to feel, but I don’t want to feel anything but his embrace and I can’t feel that.
I can’t feel a thing, but I feel everything and all the emotions he caught pour out into nothing.

Is this how it feels to be empty?
Is this how it feels to lose all control and break again?


*an original poem*