I am a Black man, African-born and slavery-torn
I have walked in the warm sun of my native land and
beaten, sold, and made to wear a brand on yours
Can I tell you of my will to survive, how I will never fold
I carry the scarred skin you gave me, just a reminder of you
forbidding my telling the stories ancestors told me
You thought if you beat us enough, we would forget our home
While hanging on the whipping post, our memory of Africa was
all we had to stop us from feeling alone
You think I hate you for what you did to me and millions like me
We do not curse you; we feel sorry for you; you thought you could tame our
wild heart, knowing we were born to be free
You have killed me a thousand times, and times a thousand times more
but I kept walking, waiting for you to feel remorse for your crimes
In reality, I do not expect you or yours to feel the need to repent
You lost your sense of morality long ago.
You think I have overreacted, but you are still castrating African men
Your mental scalpel designed to demoralize our male children
I am a Black man, born on a land that has tried to eat my soul
You ask how I survived. Our women made us whole
You focus on the few who are fighting for the safety of black lives
but you don’t notice those of us who have worked hard and thrived
Does it hurt you to see my children happy, dressed better than yours
I remember when we wore dingy clothes, wore rags and had to sleep on dirt floors
I am a Black Man, living free, and I am still helping my people rise
You don’t like our flight. If you look closely, you will see freedom in our eyes.