The Black Nightingale
April is Poetry Month!
I don’t write as much poetry as I used to, but sometimes they just pour out. And sometimes (like today) you find something that you typed up months ago in the middle of the night...
BLACK PEOPLE SAY...
Black people say things like fifty-leven
and eleventy hundred. Words that trip off the tongue in joy.
Less than a million but more than infinity, they continue even when I’m done.
And I’m just so done...
Black people say a minute
Measuring time in the day
A hot minute - fast as hell
Ain’t seen you in a minute - a long ass time
And I been done for a minute...
And the shit black people say
Sparkles and shines with wit
Creates singing language and shit
From the bling to the grip
When suddenly it’s “hip”
The language starts to flip
Can we just own *something*...SHIT
I’m just so done...
Black people speak in codes
We know the timbre and the tone
How to match our voice to yours
Just to get us through the door
And you parrot back the party songs
For proximity points and move along
But you won’t repeat the words
Black Lives Matter
should still be here...