This poem is racist.

It’s racist

and racism goes both ways.

Needless to say—nobody really cares.

 

The same few people

stand for the same few issues.

 

The College Republicans plot in secret meetings

on how they can get a rise out of the Black Student Union.

They say, “Wouldn’t it be cool to have an All-White Scholarship?

Requirement for eligibility—write an essay on why you are proud

of your White heritage. You must also submit

a recent photo to confirm Whiteness.”

 

All this to prove that slave days are passed

and they have their equality.

 

The Black Student Union plots in their meetings

on how they can get the Black athletes

to come to a meeting

or maybe stop chasing White girls around

long enough to notice that they

are a needed portion of the campus population.

They say, “We are not about to throw another party.

Why should we have to convince Black people

that they need to be active in the community?

They should already know it, and want to help out.”

 

All this to prove that slave days are passed

and they are on one accord.

 

This poem is racist.

It’s racist

and racism goes both ways.

Needless to say—nobody really cares.

 

The same few people

stand for the same few issues.

 

It’s racist because I’m Black

and I want to date who I want to without repercussions.

It sounds ridiculous saying it,

but it will be a real problem for me to live

in a racist world with a White wife and children

who will be in this same world that will pit them

against themselves on a daily basis.

 

When the ultimate hate happens,

they will have to choose sides,

and my youngest may be responsible

for the murder of my eldest,

because  he related to his mother a little bit

more than he related to me.

 

It’s racist of me to even believe that

the woman I will love enough to marry

will be capable of that ultimate hate

that will make her have to choose sides

when it actually does happen.

 

It’s racist because I might like White girls,

and like sometimes turns into love,

and you can’t help who you love,

or hate for that matter, and my hate makes me

hate myself because I know that hate will keep me

from being with who I like or love

if she so happens to be White.

 

I don’t like the idea of my relationships

being dictated by so many people

who I don’t know and don’t know me,

but are so certain that I am just like the rest of them.

 

It’s racist because that White College Republican

joins the school’s “multicultural” choir,

that consists of all Black students and him,

and really believes that he’s doing his part for the cause.

I guess they’re all doing us such a big favor, in reality,

by letting us exist on this big ball of dirt that we all came from,

and all of our kids are a cause, because we were a cause.

 

We were a cause because

our Black fathers were gone,

teaching us to need a father figure.

 

Any male authority figure—

even some White man who despised us—

whose daughter we sought to make him proud

of our transition to manhood,

despite our boyish actions;

neglecting the Black girl who reminded us

so much of our lonely, crying mother.

 

I mean, why would we want to be with a woman

so unhappy?

So angry?

Full of so much rage and tears?

 

She didn’t like Black men any more

than she taught us to love Black women.

If she did, he wouldn’t have left.

 

You see, it’s not only Black athletes

who like White girls,

just like it’s not only College Republicans

who think all Black folks are looking for a handout.

 

There are plenty of Black folks

who think all Black folks are looking for a handout.

People who thought and still think a Black person will never

be a suitable candidate for the presidency of this country

because that issue hits too close to home.

 

He will never be articulate enough.

He will never be honest enough.

He will never be White enough [even if he is half].

He will never be that father figure.

 

But, go ahead and cheer—you got your handout, and he’s here

and he’s here, and he’s hear, and he’s here,

and I hear Niggas cheerin’ “My president is Black!

My Lambo’s blue, and I’ll be God damned if my rims ain’t too.

My Momma ain’t at home and my Daddy still in jail.

I’m try’n a make a plate. Anybody seen the scale.”

 

Because the president has to support the drug trade, right?

I mean, he’s black, ain’t he?

 

And while he’s your Nigga, he’s somebody else’s monkey.

Yes. The president is Black.

And you say he’s yours, meaning that he’s not theirs

but I’m looking forward and I’m scared because prayers

are what we need more than Rap songs.

Because at home—he’s being president

and you’re being you,

but let’s look back at history, when Negro was new

and Nigga was in the rearview,

appearing closer than anyone actually wanted to believe, these were issues:

Niggas versus Negroes

Savages versus Black men

Rappin’ against Jazzin’

now we are back to square one.

 

And this dilemma boiled down to

if you are not a part of the solution, you are a part of the problem

the New Negro is American, no hyphen

and this president is as American as every White man that came before him.

 

If you can get yourself to believe that kind of thing.

 

All this to prove slave days are passed

and Willie Lynch was just a myth.

 

This poem is racist.

It’s racist

and racism goes both ways.

Needless to say—nobody really cares.

 

The same few people

stand for the same few issues.

 

 

It’s racist because no one can

come up with an equivalent

word to Nigger for White folks,

and if they could and did

it would be used so much

that White folks would begin to believe

that it was their name or title,

and after 400 years or so

White boys would be calling each other

this name and passing it off

as a term of endearment,

saying that it’s not the word that’s offensive,

but the way you use it.

 

There would be a group of

all White rappers who would record an album

entitled, “The Word” For Life

and they would be called “The Word” With Attitudes,

or something different

like “The Word” With Parents With Large Bank Accounts

because it’s an assumption that

“Niggaz” have “Attitudes”

and they wanted to make it known

that it was okay to take that assumption

and capitalize off of it

so why wouldn’t White boys

start owning up to

what society assumes about them.

 

All this to prove that slave days are passed

and racism is extinct.

 

This poem is racist.

 

It’s racist

and racism goes both ways.

 

It’s racist because

we think that it can only go two ways.

Needless to say—nobody really cares.

 

The same few people

stand for the same few issues

and ignore each other.

 

I wish that this poem could be more racist.

More racist than Willie Lynch

More racist than the Red Summer

More racist than Watts, Chicago, and L.A.

More racist than Springfield in ‘08

More racist than O.J.’s verdict

More racist than Emmett Till’s

More racist than the term ‘reverse racism’

because racism is just ‘racism’

More racist than racism could even stand.

 

I mean, if we could just be so racist that we could

get comfortable enough with racism

that we could believe that this world is just destined

to be racist, and there’s nothing that could be done about it,

maybe we could start to admit that it’s racist

and use racism as a form of endearment

so when a White person kills a Black person

or vice versa, we don’t try to come up with a spin on the story

we could just be reminded that the world is racist.

 

Then it wouldn’t be a matter of the act being racist,

it would only matter how the racism occurred.

 

We wouldn’t have to admit to ever or never

using any  hurtful words

or even explain why we did.

 

It would be expected.

 

This poem is racist

and I want it to start the trend of racist poems

that make racism chic

or beautiful

and artistic.

 

I want this poem to be that pain

so maybe we could spend

a little less time denying that it exists.

 

All this to prove that slave days are passed

but we haven’t moved forward.

 

 

 

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Aydee TheGreat

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I'm just a little south of the Windy City...