THE BLACKNESS OF MY BLACKNESS
The sickled shape cells of my body accumulate each day,
The cells behind my caramel colored skin,
The cells behind my dark brown eyes,
The cells that provide an option to think,
The cells that carry my head high
The cells that help me stand tall,
They all accumulate one after the other,
Pile on top of each other.
The circumferential, full, bountiful, perfect cells of my body push to get through.
Perfect cells push to be seen
Push to help inhabit a normal routine of that epitome of serene
Yet they struggle as the sickles take over.
Sickness takes over.
The blackness of my blackness does not come from my blackness
Upon my skins surface.
But the redness within,
Redness of the sickled cells that shape my body’s red anger
And puts all my
Hopes
Dreams
Aspirations
In danger.
"Nobody knows my sorrow." Louie Armstrong sang that in his song and It relates to your cells no know knows the way you feel, the pain, the sickness. The Blackness or your Blackness is your sickness and it holds you back "nobody knows the trouble I've seen".
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