Something Not Poetry.

It is sorrowful to me that high school literature curriculum for most of America, specifically California has not changed. To be frank, it is still very much White. I have been a youth leader and tutor for humanities, history and literature for the past two years and I am appalled at the homework I have been assisting teenagers with. I have students inquiring about #kylahspring or the origins of the #AfricanAmerican people of the diaspora, including the inception of the indegenious people yet teachers are still assigning  #CatcherInTheRye or #TheGreatGatsby, which are essentially prejudiced pieces of literature. Indicatively, I have not ascertained one piece of diverse or neoteric work being popularized into their curriculum written by a BIPOC. #America loves to say that it’s changing for the better, yet in many aspects, when it comes to education, we are eons behind the rest of the world. Ultimately, I believe that will be our downfall.

The Death of A Melanated Man

Your funeral was today.

The house was quiet.

The food was simmering.

I cooked your favorite meal with the pie you like.

It always gave me delight to watch you bite into what I created.

I always debated, waited with bated breath for you to taste it.

You’d roll your eyes and laugh at my fit.

The streets mourned you passing.

Still in shock we all came in caravans amassing and surpassing the church.

I sat in that front pew barely held together.

Something pieced together like paper does to glue.

The casket was closed,

your body which at one time was so strong,

fragile and decimated because of the evil forces that took you away from me.

I always vowed that nothing short of wild horses would take you from my grasp.

I had no idea that these wild horses were in uniforms given the license to kill.

Your death took away all of my will.

I just-it’s still.

-N