Hunted

Hunted
to be carried in shackles to a land where
violence and brutality
stripped away humanity
generations upon generations
of torment and toil
I wish that I could cling to the skirt
of my greatest grandmother
and ask
How do we survive being hunted?
I have held tightly to the illusion that
we could
blend in
fit in
be in
but it seems all we have left is to
give in
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
We have mistakenly
forgotten that
layer upon layer of hatred
has carefully been handed down
like a precious gem
so that their security could be preserved
somehow our torture brings them peace
the birthright of this land is not freedom for us
our birthright is being the hunted