by Tamesha Morris
I once sat under an oak tree,
where many of my ancestors were hung and set free,
our Amerikkka, I don’t understand, equal rights for a Black man,
not in the land of red, white, and blue,
a nation riddled with chaos but never the truth,
destined to fall beneath its means,
to be rendered useless,
to endlessly scream,
plunging into the depths of darkness,
disregarding our chances to live,
to constantly take but never to give,
blessed with the gift of being Black and free,
while still fighting stereotypes of inferiority,
struggling to ignore my ancestors’ cries,
erasing the looks of terror in their eyes,
remembering promises never to come,
Amerikkka’s reign has just begun,
time for murder and madness and sinister thoughts,
time for rapes and robberies and innocence lost,
time for anger and vengeance to creep through the night,
time for greed and envy causing massive plight,
we’ve accomplished so much,
but in contrast so less,
and we’re fastly approaching the ultimate test,
of using courage and honor to restore peace on Earth,
while stopping the violence and ending the hurt,
I can hear voices screaming “go back where you came from,”
but whose land did you land on,
oh, say can you see,
in my eyes, I see the end of mankind,
creeping up in disguise and catching us by surprise,
and the home of the brave,
that was back in the day,
before we walked astray and integrity paved the way,
we’re all Gods placed here for a purpose,
and conversing with me merely scratches the surface,
how can you judge when you don’t know,
how can you help this nation grow,
do you have the strength to go the extra mile,
to keep the faith in the eyes of the Black child?
would you rather die for a cause,
or die because you paused?
in mid-decision over right and wrong,
and oops! you took too long,
you sat idly by and watched Amerikkka stumble,
and you in the end were the one in trouble,
can you lay to rest prejudices and ill-will towards man,
can you persevere in your struggles to execute positive plans,
what have you done to lend a helping hand,
are you causing us to fall,
or aiding in our stand,
throughout the brutal and endless ride,
we’ve still managed to keep our strong, Black pride,
to hold our heads high and weather each storm,
but without the aid of others our nation is forever torn,
between good and evil and self-destruction,
how can we fight to end this corruption.
Oh! Remember that oak tree that caused so much pain?
It was tormented by thunder then raped by the rain.
Finally, a positive change.
My name is Tamesha Morris, and I’m a senior at MSU Denver with a major in English and a minor in Africana studies. My future plans include both screen and songwriting. I’ve been writing poetry since middle school and consider it my super power. Thank you in advance for taking the time to read just a sliver of my innermost thoughts.