The Black Man
He lives his life in a fear of poverty and abandonment so,
He works his ass off,
No Leave him, this guy can handle it.
Need a drink?
Who the black man?
Nah he can handle it.
Over time?
The extra hours?
Black guys can handle it.
Give it to the black man, sure he can handle it.
He goes home,
He is stressed,
He beats his wife up.
The kids get taken away,
He’s messed his life up.
See that’s the story they want you hear,
Quite engaging.
But the sad truth is,
That this is labelling.
He is kind and
He is gentle and
He is carefree.
He makes mistakes from time to time,
Sweet as a honey bee.
He plays football,
Or the piano, or the violin.
The kinda life the media has no interest in.
Now black man’s angry,
He’s annoyed.
He’s feeling left out.
He pulls the knife,
He stabs his friend,
Something to shout about.
The media’s ready,
They’ve been waiting,
It’s their time to shine.
It’s time to shed more light,
On a black man’s crime.
The media tears him, he’s heartbroken,
A broken mess.
The media tells him he’s colorist,
Light Skin only, nothing less.
Women see him, they judge him, view him as something less.
When he’s just a black man,
Trying to reconnect.
Connect to what?, connect to life, to the reality.
The reality of the life the black man’s meant to lead...
Copyright © Tracy Bediako | Year Posted 2021
|