Black Bodies by Alana Kabaka ’21
i try not to step on the bones of my ancestors but they seem to be scattered everywhere
sweet secrets of bleaching skin with lemon juice
i am seeking secrets slept on unsatisfied tough
i try to swim with weights tied to my ankles
hoping I will go somewhere knowing I won’t
walking in a room of white people the smell of bleach seems to choke me
i seem to have nightmares about my black body being the next black body to drop like a fly
my bones dragged threw the town
i have realized my black isn’t beautiful unless it’s diped and mixing with false labels
of being ghetto and dangerous
i wonder if i was lighter and whiter
i wouldn’t look at my melanin the way i do
my ancestors jumped off the boat not knowing how to swim
their bodies sunk like rocks
their stories as lost as they were
black bodies buried in bullets broken promises of
making America great again
ricochet of raging melanin
my race grows like vines around racist white ladies
comments of can i touch your hair
and i was poor once so i know what it’s like to be black
white bodies talking about the west side
of Wayzata right next to the country club
how it burned every black body when
our silent secrets were no longer silence slept on the tips of everyone tounge
black bodies are told they can by society as it holds a knife behind its back
getting ready to get rid of the race itself
black bodies never equal
never good enough to stand next to white bodies
they say they want you to succeed
but they shoot your beautiful black body
15 times when one bullet would have killed you
maybe it’s one for every racist thought
black bodies are still on that boat toes clenched to the edge ready to
jump