White Hand Slaps My Face

 

White hand, slaps my face.

No judge, no jury of my peers. Condemned to death, defined before I was even born. Being one of the first Black families, in the South Bay. I learned the word nigger, for the very first time.

White hand, slaps my face.

I try to stay focused. Remembering how it was, before we left the hood. Before we left for the “Promised Land”. When we used to “Say it Loud I’m Black and I’m Proud”. Greeting each with, “What’s up Sister!?, What’s up Brother!, What’s up Cuz!, What’s up Blood!”.

White hand, slaps my face.

I wanted to scream! But when I tried, I realized, that I would not be heard. Because the majority  is in agreement. “Black Lives Don’t Matter”.

White hand, slaps my face.

I wanted to push the white girl fast. You have to go fast, to have fun on the merry go round. She asked me to push her. I kept telling them.

White hand, slaps my face.

And I learned my place, in this new world.

White hand, slaps my face.

And I learn that, white is right.

White hand slaps my face.

And I realize, that I’m to far from the hood to be heard.  No one is coming for me.

White hand slaps my face.

I click my heels together, close my eyes, and say, “There is no place like home, there is no place like home”.

White hand slaps my face.

As I wonder about the chasm, that is being created. Between where I’m going, and where I have been.

White hand slaps my face.

Wondering if I keep moving forward, will I leave a piece of myself behind.

White hand slaps my face.

Wondering if when I get to where I’m going. Will my people remember me, when I come  home.

White hand slaps face.

But I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. Matthew 5:39

White hand slaps my face.

The “American Dream”, is like taking a hit from a crack pipe. And spending the rest of your life, trying to get another hit. The, “Pursuit of happiness”, is America’s crack cocaine by another name.

White hand slaps my face.
And I don’t turn the other cheek. I run back home. Back home to myself. Back home to the hood. –   lynelgardner.com

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