I write this as I cry because death does not scare me,
Though as the feeling of numbness takes over my body again I can’t help but panic,
Not because I don’t want to leave loved ones behind,
Not because I’m scared of who stands behind the black glass doors of temptation,
No its far worse then that,
It has nothing to do with the tears that will be shed at my funeral,
Or the pleas of my nieces and nephews when they knock on my bedroom door and I don’t respond,
No it’s none of that.
It’s quite simple.
I’ll panic about the essay being handed in a day or two late or the sweet glazed waffles that will go out of date,
I’ll stress about the weight I’ll lose and the weave I didn’t choose,
Or the dress laid on my bed and the words I never said,
The bath tap that always drips and the political wire set for us to trip,
The oppression of my people and that stupid “nigger” label.
I’ll panic for those who don’t have a voice and forthe future kings and Queens who have been stripped of choice,
For the little black girl who’s been shamelessly bleaching and the confused trapped princess who’s mind is screeching,
I’ll panic for the tigers in the jungle who’s numbers are decreasing, while the paster at the church is obliviously preaching,
For the daughters and sons who’ve been hiding due to segregation yet their parents happily shout “freedom” but within reasonable limitations,
I’ll panic for the people who are fighting for their jobs and for the depressed, angry and self-destructive mobs,
For those who increase tax and lower wages yet sit on their yotchs and nutrionalize their faces,
I panic for the innocent embryo being born into this world, being tought that a penis makes you superior to a girl,
I am afraid for the females being told what not to wear, instead of males being tought that it’s rude to fucking stare,
I’m afraid that our different colours and accents will better our minds and this undiscovered world will forever remain blind.
I am afraid of many things but how many of these things can I change ?
– Her x