No kites up in the air this year
No singing angels’ majestic climb
No raging bulls
No dancing round-kite
Square-kite
Box-kite
Not a bat-kite in the blue sky

Little ones
Distracted by a different story 
Backs turned to this ascension 
Too busy
Plugged into their PlayStations
YouTube fingers google walking portable brains

If only on the outside
I am fat
so I cannot accept that
I am worthy
I know deep down
my bulging belly labels me obese
and I see
my heavier hips generate the most stares
I realize
my body is riddled with cellulite
and I understand
the mirror can only present its truth
I acknowledge that
my value is measured primarily as a number on a scale
so no one can make me believe
I am beautiful
if only on the inside

So this dumbass asked me the other day
“Why does Black History Month always have to be about
Death and Rosa Parks and Malcolm X and MLK?
Why can’t y’all get over it and just find some happy shit to say?”

I had to summon the sarcasm of seventy generations 
To say:
Oh I’m sorry
Sorry my history is about as convenient for you 
As it is for me
Sorry our blood ain’t blue enough for you
When you spill it in the streets

Dear white people… 
I’m not here to fight, I’m not here to bargain, I’m not here to scream. 
You’re here to listen. 
The place you call home, The Land of the Free. Was constructed by People of Colour.
Mechanized by your predecessors and ancestors who used genocide, violence 
    and slavery as fuel.
Undisputable.  Undeniable.  Unforgivable.