(don’t call me) Nigger

To be addressed as Nigger is to be
removed from history — with blood
on the book that the wind has blown
away to the face of a Nigger.
In your face a Nigger will smile but
can’t walk a mile when the…
placards are up!
A Nigger will compromise autonomy
for a pot of porridge to appease his
insatiable appetite — to fill up the
void just as Judas his patriot.
A Nigger is a killer of the poor
righteous teacher, willing to pull the
trigger on the dreamer; poised to make
a Stephen out of every believer!
A Nigger plays for the gain
hooked up on the pain — a bait
to fish the Messiah.
A Nigger is here… there…
tapping behinds, doing the belly dance —
everywhere he goes the South wind
never ceases to blow his emptiness;
because his skin is the color of crime;
an identity of mayhem; of chaos to his own community —
and a slap to the golden face of his mutilated heritage.
A Nigger is always up for slaughter
before the bidder, and peddlers of
his damaged history.
A Nigger wasting time watching the
hours go to waste; counting the days in
his time walking pass, as he’s doing time,
waiting for the clock to fall off
the walls to be free — free ass what?
An 007; the hood masquerade
running errands to live and let you
badge your murder the schoolboy way.
A Nigger is a depraved prisoner
but thinks he’s saved in the hands of
Father Massa, and makes his run in
his name — always admiring shiny
object hanging down his neck
and dangling on his wrist. He’s cast
his conscience into the lake of fire;
with all pleasure watching his soul
goes up in a burning flame as…
he’s been dehumanized
with rewards behind the walls
of snitches for richies… because the
knowledge of self has long departed him…
left him swinging from a Cercis tree,
…a strange fruit for us to bear!