I Am, I No
by: Micah Parker
I’m starting to think I was never meant to be.
It’s as if I’m a complete failure with no ounce
of respect or dignity, positivity or happiness
to collide with a grounded life.
I am a mess up, a screw up.
I am an illusion, a mere deception to the human eye.
I am reckless and inferior.
I am no longer human, but an interior designer
whose blueprint has been stomped on and charred
by the arson of detrimental affliction and suffering.
I am the cursed gift that keeps giving.
I am the black man who’ll probably never make it
to his late-20s, let alone tomorrow. Blessed if I do.
I have been marked with substance but it is not enough.
I have been created with purposes not intended to
shine or model for others.
I am the black face that most fear and the person
whose mouth burns towns and near villages down.
I am the black sheep in the herd who’s never
tended to; only when needed.
Though left aside I stick out, I disappoint and
hinder the prosperity of my fellow kin.
Can you imagine living in 21st Century America,
dreaming of a land unseen just so the pain seems
Will there ever be a moment where my involuntary
existence is met with sympathy and care?
The same care that exalts from
the edges of my pink lips every day.
The same emotion that carries itself through electric
lines of luminosity and devotion, but it seems it doesn’t
I am a body who lives but isn’t living.
I am a being whose purpose has been shifted.
I am no longer apart of this realm, I have
traveled to the next where bodies are hosts
for the living to remember and meet with reverence.
Difference is, in this realm and next I won’t amount
to any qualities of care, reverence and/or common courtesy.
I am forever shelved and unattended for.