I’d just been whipped naked.
My people had no choice but to stand and watch.
In pain, I saw my wife in the distance, she had been beaten into submission.
They took our only child and turned him into something we couldn’t even comprehend.
We had no home, we had no life, we suffered and were owned, we were told to forget.
We were told to forget.
To keep quiet, when to sleep, how to dress, how to talk, how to walk, we were property.
Our story was to be forgotten, sold as a shame, exterminated.
Beaten into separation, kept dumb on purpose, divided for a reason. This alone could make a grown man cry. Begging as a man on my knees for mercy, I felt another slash against my back for just trying to wake my people up. Forced to drown in my tears I’d become numb.
Whipped into submission before I was crucified, I watched what had become of my life.
I’d been forgotten, tortured for just being a slave.
Tortured for being myself, I was already dead. As time went on, I realized that I owned nothing.
I had no home. I had no country. Hanging on a noose, as they gathered around to watch, I heard my mother calling me on the other side.
I was alone.
I had no friends, I owned nothing, I was told to forget and let go, I’d literally lost my mind trying to be remembered. Trying to feel loved, trying to feel alive.
Dangling from a tree I could hear my mother calling me.
She called me by a name I’d never heard.
For she too was blinded on earth, whipped into submission. We only had dreams to keep us happy, we only had dreams to give us a home. We only had dreams to give us peace.
As my body then hung from a tree lifeless,
what was called necessary evil had literally driven the world mad.
It had driven good God fearing men to fight.
My bloodline never saw freedom…
We were told to forget.
This was my history, a history that I alone had to find.
I was a slave, I was owned, and I was told to accept my life and forget.
My noose shined in gold and as I hung from a purple tree, my last supper was at a table full of traitors, for my disciples drank blood and were drunk happy. They too stabbed me in the back only to see me resurrect in history so the world could be saved and never forget.
The Little Brown People.
God bless the people who chose to end slavery, I hope everyone learned a lesson this Black History Month. If you’re living comfortably and you feel a small pinch on your skin, or you feel a hint of anxiety, beware, the little brown people could be present. You can still hear them at night, they blow with the wind, and burn with the fire.