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

distant?

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

matter anymore.

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.

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