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It is a burden to know that this is not your real name
And that your real history has been faded into the backs of dusty old shelves that can no longer be seen with the naked eye
Did you like dancin, or shuckin?
Or shuffling those tired feet of yours back into a shack that was fit for a slave?
Who honored your name?
You weren’t even compensated
We made jokes when I was younger
Called anyone wearing your signature red scarf an “Ant Jemimaâ€
Those words haunt me
I never knew that you existed outside of the cartoon drawings and a red bandana
You were a real person
You were owned
Your body was not yours
Your hands were not your own
Even your breast fed children did not belong to you
If we had known what and who you were, would that have made a difference in the jokes?
We laugh at our pain, without even feeling the knife wounds in our backs
The chains shackled around our ankles
And the terror that can come at night
We laughed at you, made jokes out of your physical form and your clothes
We spat on your grave
Allowed people to deceive your family
Hatred
Hatred
Hatred and anger
Is what I feel
The deepest corners of my mind speak such dark thoughts
And in another world they would be justified if carried through
Who fought for you?
Who told you that you were beautiful?
They robbed you & your family for generations while we ate.....
Pancakes
You were a slave in every sense of the word
A gutted fish in a sea of sharks
WHO THE F**k FOUGHT FOR YOU?
Everything that we’ve ever had has been stolen
You who were owned by another human being
No different than you
Only the hue of a skin color
Which can stir up such a hatred of a color?
You were property, and we laughed
You were beaten, and we ate syrup and pancakes, and watched Saturday morning cartoons
I wonder how many more are like you….?
