Passive-Microagressive.

Sitting in the canteen
Ready to tuck into my lunch
Approach the microwave
The corner of my left eye
Caught a wave
‘hey mate, have you fin….’
‘that smells exotic, what’s that there?’
Just some rice and stew with some dodo
As he stares doe-eyed
Looks me up and down, asking
‘why do you have a frown?’
That’s just the way my face drops
He takes a glance at my phone
And sees my last played
Hop-scotching to the conclusion,
‘You listen to that hip-hop all day’
Nah, not really
Sincerely,
I should file a grievance
Against your egregious
Views
Because you perceive
I’m a certain way
Because of my hue
So who told you this?
What, the TV?
MTV? BBC? LBC?
Did they inform your world view
Instead of coming to ask me,
Or her, or him
What they are about,
A fair exchange
Carries a lot of currency
But it seems you’ve spent time
Not knowing
Investing in that blissful ignorance
Saying things
Withdrawn from the bank of privilege
Please don’t waste my time
With these wild thoughts
And please open
your eyes and ears
Before you talk.

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Point Blank. 

I’ve got a point to make
But my mind keeps drawing blanks
Why they keep killing
My people from
Point blank range
We keep talking about change
But what’s the point
When police keep
Killing my people
From point blank range
Shoot first
Accuse later
Ask questions last
But what’s going through
The cop’s mind
As he prepares to blast?
Is it fear?
Fear of a tone that’s darker than his?
So he darkens his tone
Of voice
And shouts out loud
To mask the hatred inside
That he’s afraid to address
Instead sending mixed messages
That suggests that he’s missed the point
Firing shots off
From close range
Acting on the irrational rage
Sweeping up through his torso
Moreso, because he sees black as a threat
He’s too busy making decisions
That he won’t live to regret
Because he hides behind the badge
Inside the forces
That serve and protect
Themselves from their ways
But when it’s pointed out
That they’re living in a maze
In the bubble of misplaced
Authority
They blank out the root problem
And keep killing minorities
On a whim
And nothing seems to heal
Nothing.
Not even time, prayers or protests
To show the pain, anguish and anger
On our faces
Everyday is the killing Olympics
And they keep running and gunning
On kaleidoscopic races
Most importantly
The black race
Because everyday
White supremacy
Want to raise the bar
To see how high we can jump
Because we’re getting pushed too far
To the edge
To the point where they draw blanks
From their privileged minds
So I’ll keep saying it with my chest
Speaking my mind
Until I see change
And the crooked authorities
Stop killing my people
From point blank range.

The Letter M.

Everyone talks about us reclaiming the ‘n’ word. Quite frankly, I would like to kill all associations with the word that begins with the letter ‘m’.

So sad that Roy Hodgson can’t tell a simple story without the media creating a furore.

Let’s not play like the mammal that doesn’t hear, talk nor see, but instead educate ignorant minds so that they hear it right, speak sense and see the idiocy that doesn’t make one colour-blind, but blind to see the effect and affect of a word that blights one colour.

By the way Roy, you meant no harm or malice, don’t let the media twist our minds by drinking from their poisoned chalice.