You May Know the Name, But You Don't Know the Pain

PAIN

He doesn’t know why I am here
Or why even for he
And now
He even confuses me.

Do you know pain?

I know it well, as if, in fact, it is my name
Aware that even as others grew differently privileged
And prospered with a head start
That the young people, with less than zero hearts,
In Roxbury, silently screamed to me and
My answer was to remain
And create change.
Can you say the same?

Do you even know pain?

It is your daughter restless being held at night
Flickering bits of hope like droplets of light
When she can feel your Black Girl pain as if it were her own
'Cause it is.
No silver spoon, but a wide berth of a start
Because my sacrifice is hers to mold
She's already found herself
She understands the tribulations of
Black Girl "Gold"

Her life is hers, but is this life of mine now, really mine?
Was my path chosen in increments of time?
I belonged first to HIM, then to her, then to him
Again then, to them:
Those that lived within me and then those that grew from
The powerful synapse to me.

Do you know pain like I know pain?
Sat and had dinner with pain,
Built a life around pain, surrounded your heart with pain
Watched your so-called Leaders fail over and over again
Stood by grabbing at what was left of what your community gained?
Loved and held and watched it evaporate only to return acidic like rain?

Indifference Feigned
Hatred, numbness gained
Not the only but certainly the main
I am steadfastedly going insane
Had hoped that Yin could guide
A strong Yang
Only to be wrong, yet
Again
That is my pain.

Trusting this concoction of flour, egg and sugar cane
Knowing it isn't 1986 and in 2009 it can't be the same
His testament painting the picture that
This is all just a sick and twisted icing, and not cake,
Kind of a game.

Choices were made there is no one to blame
What you did and what I am doing is NOT the same
I chose motherhood over money and lovers and fame;
I did that alone, and then I changed what I was named.

Girl.
Daughter.
Sister.
Friend.
Mother.
Mentor.
Wife.
Woman.

And still I rise.

Do you even know pain?

Pain is crying in the dark at an inscribing that hurt
Still even late into the night, watering down the strength
of penning thoughts that support one's craft, one's life-long work.

Salvation?

Not with pen and paper, not with a recorder or by type
If in the morning the World's balance still isn’t right
I remain and only then will I write
And then right, all the wrongs, that bite.

Good Morning, Billie cried.
Heartache, still in site.



(Thanks to Talib Kweli for "Black Girl", Maya Angelou for "I rise" and Billie Holiday for "Good Morning, Heartache")