Wounding The Black Male

She had a name for me, but she could not lay claim to me, I called her my queen of desire, that would set any mans soul on fire. Her back door she was willing to open, but I told her because of the men before me I only wanted to come to the front, and not made to feel like the slaves before me. It was bad enough that, because of the pigmentation of their skin, they were able to get deep inside her and spill their seed, while I was in need, at home wondering, if she would come home impregnated. The cabin floor, knew the pattern of my feet as I walked back N forth wondering, is she crying, and have her tears started to dry on her face and show the pain she has to endure her nightly shame. Returning to me, with his scent in her hair, as I attempt to hold, her as I have done, so many times before I smell, as I inhale the essence of this animal that has taken my wife’s virtue when he wanted. Each day I awake, I go out into the fields and cry out to the creator to give me strength to hold on, as I weep from being tiered of my role that is not easy to maintain. My children belong to him, but she birthed them, so I must love them because they are a part of her.

Somewhere in the future I pray that what has happened to me will help change the thought process of what we may have to go through in life. The element of what you have to experience will last as long as it is supposed to. Re-evaluate what you currently have and what you do, just understand it is not about you.