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Rachel

On July 11^th 2005, my father died

Mortified, I notarize through rhyming lines

I [GLUG] feel the noose tighten on more than my father

Feel the vice tighten its grip on my father

No, no, no not my Father!

For on July 11^th 2005, more than my father died!

On July 11^th 2005, my innocence died

On July 11^th 2005, my youth died

On July 11^th 2005, my self-love died

On July 11^th 2005, a part of me died

Flash-forward 7 years to a new me

Walking and talking with a dark-skinned Haitian beauty

I, PAUSE…she said something that got me thinking

Something that got my mental mapping and my neurons linking

Flashback 5 years to the old me

Somehow, by the powers of the Ugandan sun and/or puberty, I was dark-skinned!

Sure, it had happened gradually,

But, I had never expected it to this extent  

Never had I expected to feel so pinned

To the bottom of the barrel of racial inferiority

“I used to be light-skinned! See! Me!”

I proudly proclaimed, hoisting up photos from my youth

When I was young and uncouth

Hurling insults left, right and center at those with a darker shade

“You’re so black, you bleed ink!”
I said with a smile on my face

Now I was the one, who merely had to blink to indicate

Turn right [right eye blinks]

Light is right

Team Lightskin…no more

Flash-forward, years four

Burning with righteous indignation at the societal advantages that my light-skinned friends had over me, I was-

Jealous

Simply jealous

I used to be light-skinned, I knew what is was like

Light is might!

I- “You perceived”

What-“You perceived”

Rachel cut through my reverie

As she spoke, her grounded tones flashed me forward to the present breeze

“You perceived” Rachel said, and as our conversation continued and we walked and talked

I gawked

I don’t remember exactly what was said

But I know I am indebted

For I had heard it all before:
“The Blacker the Berry the sweeter the juice! Black is beautiful! #TeamDarkskin!”

But none of these did a thing for me  

For none of them addressed the bonds of mental slavery

That shackled me

None addressed my perceived inferiority

I don’t remember exactly what Rachel said to me

But I know that, on July 11^th 2005, a part of me died

And on that third day, Rachel resurrected a part of me

Privilege

The bottle spins as the reams of thoughts flutter by my consciousness

As my disjointed synapses fire off things I would not mind saying with confidence

The bottle stops.

On me.

Breath in…

PAUSE

Settle on one idea, I see

‘Never have I ever wished for the unearned advantages distributed based on the values of the dominant matriarchal society that we live in’

All the men take a shot

All the women sit in awkward defensive silence

Sometimes silence is violent

Sometimes silence speaks of untold and underrepresented voices

Sometimes silence speaks of long internally torn oppressed histories, also known as ‘background noises’

Sometimes silence tells a story

Sometimes silence tells this story from alternate eyes

Do you realize?
Sometimes silence is violent

Like that one night out

Or EVERY single night out

Going out for some drinks, dancing and good times with the guys

As we get on the dancefloor, we form a little circle, and the dance the night away to our hears content

Enter woman.

She tries dancing up on me, to which I reply

By turning around and politely explaining ‘I’m sorry but I don’t want to dance with you’

‘Wow’ she replies, ‘What do you think you’re too good for me or something?’

‘No’-

‘Then what?? You got a girlfriend or something?’

‘No’-

‘Then what?? Are you gay or something?’

‘No’-

‘Then’- WHAT, WHAT, WHAT, WHAT answer would ever satisfy one who does not care about what I want

This is NOT my story to tell..

Truth is, never have I ever wished for the unearned advantages based on the values of the dominant patriarchal society that we live in

Truth is, all the women take a shot

Truth is, all the men sit in awkward defensive silence

Truth is, silence is violent

Truth is, no matter how many female friends, girlfriends, mother’s, sisters, cousins etc. I have, I will never ever, fully relate to the female experience

Truth is, I cannot speak for a life I have not lived

Truth is, however angry and frustrated this makes me, this does not compare to the experiences of those that have to live it every single day

Truth is, I think I finally know what it feels like to be white

Sticks & Stones

The power of words, it's absurd
How they can fly like birds
From the ear to the brain, causing the mind to curd
Even from one, as soft-spoken as Ferb
I'm a word nerd
And these words can inflict damage, ya heard?
It can be inferred
That as cliche as this sounds, my ramblings started with a girl
She was just a friend
No really, she was just a friend
But this friendship was strained because of a word
Now let the story unfurl
You see this girl
Was a part of my crew and we were kicking it
Laid back, chilling like villains, parlaying wit
Thought it would be funny to insult her intelligence
With a smug grin on my face, the words tumbled out with negligence
Her smile quickly turned upside down
And that frown, was the last thing I saw before the door slamming shook the ground
II sat perplexed?!
It was just a word!
Hurting her was never my intent...never my intent

I said sorry!
I never meant to hurt you
I care for you
Why can't you see that when it comes to you, my intent is never in rue
I thought that you were cool!
Why am I the one shouting at your back?
You respond with click clack
Ack-Ack-Ack-Ack!
I try to contain myself as the one sided wall of silence
Tightens its hold on my sinus
Choking up I realize that silence is violent
The absence of words can be just as absurd
As any inference from those words themselves

As they say, Sticks and Stones may break my bones
But names will...chip away at my soul

Lesson Learned

(LOUD ULULATION)

Ululations echo, resonating within my soul

My heartbeat in sync with the hole in my sock

The result of the grating of gravel and toil

A plight that resembles extraction of oil

Boil! Boil! toil and trouble

I struggle to be set apart from the rubble

Defined by the coulour of my skin as charcoal or oil spill or ink from a pen

In Africa lies my heart but not my head

Engrained in me as the red that courses through my veins

I’m insane in the membrane with these voices in my head

Of ancestors long gone who live on inside

Who teach me and raise me and patiently bide

Passing on wisdom through those alive and passed on

Like my dear Uncle Bukenya and this is his song:

Uncle Bukenya was driving back from the village, weary

It was late and his eyes were bleary

Blinking, blinking he kept his eyes on the dreary road

As the load of stress slipped of his shoulders and was lifted by the breeze

SIGH

Glancing over to the side of the road, he noticed a beautiful lady

She caught his eye, with her shapely thighs and he pulled over his Mercedes

Leaning over he grinned and asked her if she wanted a ride

She graciously accepted and climbed in, putting her feet to the side

Uncle Bukenya drove, conversed as his eyes caressed her

Enraptured by her beauty and with his eyes undressing her

He licked his lips and imagined what he would do to her

Time passed and Uncle Bukenya noticed she covered her legs

He asked her of it and the topic was changed

But curiosity was in his mind engrained

Uncle Bukenyaya got fed up and pulled up her skirt

He froze.

HOOVES! HOOVES! HOOVES!

SHE HAD HOOVES!

He stopped the car and threw her out

And since that day you can hear him shout 

MUGABI EVERY TIME YOU SEE A PRETTY LADY

MAKE SURE TO LOOK AT HER FEET

R.I.P

Tears caress my cheek

As they tell me not to be meek
Be strong! Be strong!
You’ve got to carry on!
But I don’t want to carry on if carrying on means a mask must be worn

If not displaying emotions is strength, then WHY does it feel so wrong?
WHY?
Do I feel like I do not know what to do and feel

WHY?

Am I overanalyzing, is this really real?

This superficialness is simply the first stage of grief

Negativity has me feeling like Chief Keef

I DON’T LIKE! I DON’T LIKE!

Wipe the tears from my eyes, because as a man I should not cry

Societal expectations with no explanation are leaving me dry

Be strong for others, they say

BUT no one clarifies what this entails

WHY?

Do other people keep on telling me what I should do?
WHY?

Do they tell me to let it out for that decision they will rue!

There is an uncontrollable ball of rage inside of me

Digesting my intestines, if released a pretty sight you will not see!

So STOP telling me how I should feel

STOP telling me how I should heal

STOP telling me how I should deal

With my issues, walk a mile in my shoes

And you will quickly learn

That I have no idea why I feel the way I feel

I have no idea what is real and what is real

I thought time heals all but these emotions cannot be vanquished

WHY do you get to Rest in Peace?

While I’m Alive in Anguish…

So time goes on

And they say time heals all

But time merely marked the passage

Of emotional baggage

Transforming into a package

Making me a savage, cabbage, multilayered average carriage of damage

My soul was hemorrhaged

With the knowledge of death

A privilege and a curse

As I attempt to salvage the innocence I had left

People started dropping like flies around me!

The first was the catalyst for death to start surrounding!

Fear gripped me

For I could cry for none but the first

Was HE the most important or could it be worse?

Could I finally be becoming numb to the pain?

Fain feelings to gain normalcy, incapable of hurt like the Jain

Sorrow coursing through my veins

Never wane

Only thing keeping me sane
Is that you did not die in vain

For it taught me

Shy away from mediocrity

Life is TOO SHORT to not be the best that you can be

An obsession with death cultivated to a celebration of life

Focus on strife

Made me realize you only live twice

Death when your heart stops beating

Death when your name is uttered for the last time

Live on