The silence of black innocence
What should be an atmosphere of excitement
Becomes something more deadly - more violent
A child's first sound should be heard
Instead silence echoes
Even before life began
A black baby understands
That in order to survive the world outside
Their cries should be kept on the inside
How painfully sad
That before it's existence
It inherited generational silence
Ones whispered through the branches of their ancestry
The unspoken rules that come with the guide of how to survive -
Being black and alive
There are way scarier things then the dark
Like the clothes on your chair, something innocent
Becomes dark and twisted
Once the lights are off
Morphing into shadows
Worse than any nightmare your mind to conjure
If you don't understand this metaphor
I'm talking about the performative actions of the modern day oppressors
How messed up
That we live in a world
That claims that us black people are the 'monsters'
Yet before our children are even born
You've forced
Our sons and daughters
Into a life dictated by silence
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