February 13th

you question my worth, but
you need to be made aware of is my wrath:

head wraps and raps and finger waves transcending on waves and Bantu knots and Soul food pots and  sew ins  and corn rows.
things that you don't know--
won't know--
can't possibly understand the rhythm of.

but, that's okay because you can tune yourself in to the song of
love.

No no no.
Instead, you wanna snip the strings of self value on my violin.
You try to replace my heritage filled hymns with some gentrified, tounge-tied, and bleach-dyed
"music"?

You're the only one
trying to make cacophony
"fun."
trying to burn my tympani of racial pride and calling it
"some silly drum."
Guess what? I can make a beat or two.
A beat that you
Will hate too, because it's "in your face."
A beat that you
Will eventually try to shake your hips to
In the same way that my people do because
It'll make you "stand out."

I'm standing out now and
I'm standing out loud, but...
Oh, but, you want me to turn my volume down so I can hear you?
So I can see you?
Well, see this--
In Ebonics, because I'm sure that you'll hear it.

You be tryna lessen my werf, but what be great is my wrath:

My wrath be so great I 'ont een need ta raise a finger ta create or resto' a peace .
The magic 'n ma roots throb and vibrate ta do that fo' me.
My wrath be so great I just cry nah 'cause those who died, buh 'cause I know that I's
alive
and I's live ta play one mo' song.