Hunted

Hunted and carried away in shackles to a land where violence and brutality stripped away humanity.

Generations upon generations upon generations of torment and toil in every way possible, spiritually, emotionally, mentally, and physically.

I wish that I could cling to the skirt of my greatest grandmother and ask,

“How do we survive being hunted?”

I imagine her soothing my worries, I imagine she would say

“Baby no matter how many times our bodies and our blood has mixed together with theirs your black skin was produced and black skin aint safe in a white land. The only way to survive is to return.”

I have held tightly to the illusion that we could blend in, fit in, be in.

Our minds are washed thoroughly so that we give in.

We have mistakenly forgotten that layer upon layer of hatred

has carefully been handed down, like a gem, so that the security of the enslaver could be preserved.

Somehow our torture brings them peace.

The birthright of this land is not freedom for us.

Our birthright in this land is being the hunted.