A Poem: She And I, The Tale of American And a Martyr - 3/12/10 (from unknown date)

Life for me, means strife for me

As I strive to be what I contrive to be

But it seems as though America lied to me

Portraying me and my kind to be fastidious

And keeping us in dwellings so insidious

It’s hideous, the truth I mean

Because I’ve seen how obscene

She can be, She can see but refuses to speak

He r tongue never sheds due light on my plight

My night is one of fear, and She knows why…

See,

I’m a brother born to a single mother

Mom and dad lusted for,

But couldn’t stand each other

Born where else but the hood,

Taught that what was bad was really good

And that what I shouldn’t I should

So my surroundings reared me

Liquor and dollar stores were the only thing near me

Clearly that was all I was meant to know

Before it ever got cold I learned about snow

The white was right and by rite I was to deal it

Apparently my father used to feel it,

Fillet the edges, and make it look nice

My block made my block look twice

Cooked more than my mom, though I never fed her

Couldn’t give her any of my dough ‘cuz she knew of my fetter,

My cheddar attracted all kinds of hoodrats,

I was a straight-A student making good stacks

But soon my veins became pavement,

My heart a stop sign

I couldn’t keep pulling my people down,

Not with a sound mind

It was the books or streets,

Although I had a white soul

Wanted to do right by mom,

So the white sold,

And I put the pen to the paper

SAT scores out the roof, ready to tell the hood ‘see you later’

But the white bothered me,

White men on the beat drawing white men in the street,

White stains in the hall of my apartment,

Girls who made those headed to the WIC department

This place, brought tears to my face

Bred to believe that this is all we can achieve?

The white envelope held my acceptance letter

Told mom, that when I got done, we would live better

Next day she got robbed, next week lost her job

And so it came again: streets or the books

I remember how all of the brothers gave me dirty looks

Because they knew that I knew what success took,

I went, back to streets

Rather than going to college rocking some pleats,

Every bullet that went by, brought a tear to my eye

Because the next day another mother had to ask why,

So I did just enough, boy it was rough

Some days just one decision away from the handcuffs,

And as I did these dubious deeds, I realized just how dubious these,

Pernicious police were, lying in wake just to cause another wake,

Instigating instead of investigating, they were just dealers with badges

Contracted to make sure we stayed as uneducated hood asses,

Making deals with snitches, using them then turning them in to be jail bitches

Hell hitches onto you when you’re on these streets, the sins you commit

Are known to permit addictions of the worst kind, but I was the first kind

To quit it all, because I refused to be used to make my brothers fall

The cops didn’t solve crimes because they needed us on the street at all times,

To keep each other down, motivation I had found and so I acted

Bought a suitcase and packed it, decided to go to school and be the next Obama

To save my people and take care of my mama,

But She wouldn’t have it…

She knew of the damage I could do,

And wouldn’t let it happen

She realized that I didn’t want to ‘make it’ from rapping

Nor did I want to continue trapping

I wanted better, and would not let Her,

Keep me down

So She sent them to beat me down

As I made my last rounds,

I was on my last stop and got stopped by a cop

Tried to get me to be 10-cents,

Said if I did it I’d get a sixpence,

But when I refused he got tense, shoved me against a fence,

I moved my hands back in preparation for the ‘cuffs

He would use this as “he was getting tough”

So he tased me, I didn’t want to be shocked to death so I fought back

Then he blazed me.

The officer resigned in silence,

The hood erupted in violence,

Perpetuating her stereotypes,

All of those nights, I didn’t know it,

But this was my destiny

Things ended the best for me:

I was an instrument of change,

Sent to open eyes

The cops can be dirty

And can fabricate lies

They keep us down

And keep our souls going up

But after more stories like mine

We may one day have had enough.

-A. Lewis