Don't you dare lay a finger on my boys
They bring me unmitigated joy
Their beautiful skin made of melanin
Should be recognized as their gift
Not a presumption of sin
My nephews are not moving targets
My sons are not points to be made
Their lives are not soapbox rhetoric
Their rights are nothing to degrade
They are beautiful and strong
They are being born and bred
To be leaders in the world
But they can't if they're dead
Does their intelligence offend you?
Are you threatened perchance?
Do you truly believe, if denigrated,
Not one will advance?
We have a history of hatred heaped on us
Inbreeding of jealousy, ignorance
And if we were to level the playing field
Do you think you would stand a chance?
It's weak and just sad to attribute us all
To stereotypes that were passed down
From clouded judgments
And minds that were small
Check the facts- we erected civilization
And who do you think literally built this nation?
You can steal all our culture
Our dreams deferred can evolve
To be clear you should fear anyone
With the will and resolve
To effect real change in the world
Changing minds, softening hearts
And if there's any advice that I wish to impart
It would be to steer clear; we're not going anywhere
The time for our victory, it draws ever near
About the Creator
Syncere
Syncere (noun) An author/poet & barely tolerable human being. Masterful trickster of family & friends, as they actually support her. In another life, could've been a failed comedienne. In the grand scheme of the multiverse, she already is.
Can You Drive a Ford Fiesta Through a Desert?
I’m flying down the B1 highway from Windhoek to Keetmanshoop with a map and a boot full of camping gear. I’m excited for the first stop of my Namibian road trip: the Quiver Tree Forest. I spot the sign and turn onto the C17, off the tarmac and onto the gravel. I’ll be there soon; it’s only ten miles or so. I am unprepared for what comes next. The car slides and slips across the road. I am not fully in control anymore. I slow to a crawl. The car judders and shudders, the noise deafening, the vibrations rattling the teeth in my skull. It takes me around an hour to drive the ten miles. I arrive at the campsite relieved to be in one piece, even if it feels like all my bones have been shaken slightly out of place. I will later learn that this is what happens when the gravel road becomes “corrugated”, and that the roads authority goes round once a week to “grade” them. Seems I arrived about 6 days after the grader had last been round.
By Jenifer Nim6 days ago in Wander
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