deepundergroundpoetry.com
Old Black Man (Black and Ignorant)
My name is Old Black Man,
But this is not about me…it is about you
It is about the name that you call yourself.
The person that lies beyond those brown eyes
That is residing within that flesh that is clinging so firmly to that flesh that is draped upon them bones.
It’s about the blood that is racing around those veins that lies just below that melanin that is resting in that skin.
You say that you know who you are but continue to lie to me.
And if you are not lying then you cannot possibly know who you are.
So therefore you are as black and ignorant as I know you are.
Disconnected from the knowledge of your heritage but so connected to these false realities of what you say your truth is.
When you breath you should be inhaling the realities of the world and seeing what is taking place around you.
Your wrists and ankles should be unshackled and you should be dancing…rejoicing on the foundation that was built by the hands of those before you.
If I placed my shoes at your feet, would you be man enough to step within them and retrace them steps behind you?
And if so how far back would you go before you turned back around?
Would you educate yourself?
Or remain black and… ignorant?
My name is Black…and Ignorant
I am fully aware of these false hopes that the Old Black Man speak of…
And I believe these false hopes and dreams that I have so willingly wrapped myself in each and everyday of my life.
I reside in the realm of obedience and believe that nothing will happen to me as I roll down the street, blast my music and lay with any and everyone I choose to place my shoes at.
And as I take a sip of this Henny and draw in the smoke of this spiked blunt….
I gladly accept this liquid within my veins as these demons continue to whisper sweet lies within my ears.
And it is all because I believe that as long as I continue to believe that this is the best life to live, I will continue to believe that this is just one of the best lies I will ever be told.
I am everything that I am not supposed to be.
Trapped between these misinterpretations of how a black man is supposed to be.
And what a black man is not supposed to be.
My foundation is weak, and I know that it is, so therefore I patch it up daily with dreams of being great.
But nail them down with stereotypes, ignorance, shame, hurt, regret, and anger.
Can nobody tell me about my hurt not even this Old Black Man.
Can nobody tell me that I should care when I know that as soon as I get that opportunity to get this money I’m going to splure and flash it on every social media site I am active on.
I am going to get my girl’s hair and nails done and go chill with the homies while I try to slide by my side piece house before I go and pick my main up and hit up this block party later on tonight.
And I am going to teach my son that this is the best life to live while I try to explain to my daughter that she can be any and everything in the world but she is going to have to survive this life first...
I will hold no regrets until I am no longer free….
Tears will not escape from my eyes because that isn’t what a man is supposed to do.
I am Black and Ignorant…and I will remain this way until I decide to break this cycle.
(To be continued…)
But this is not about me…it is about you
It is about the name that you call yourself.
The person that lies beyond those brown eyes
That is residing within that flesh that is clinging so firmly to that flesh that is draped upon them bones.
It’s about the blood that is racing around those veins that lies just below that melanin that is resting in that skin.
You say that you know who you are but continue to lie to me.
And if you are not lying then you cannot possibly know who you are.
So therefore you are as black and ignorant as I know you are.
Disconnected from the knowledge of your heritage but so connected to these false realities of what you say your truth is.
When you breath you should be inhaling the realities of the world and seeing what is taking place around you.
Your wrists and ankles should be unshackled and you should be dancing…rejoicing on the foundation that was built by the hands of those before you.
If I placed my shoes at your feet, would you be man enough to step within them and retrace them steps behind you?
And if so how far back would you go before you turned back around?
Would you educate yourself?
Or remain black and… ignorant?
My name is Black…and Ignorant
I am fully aware of these false hopes that the Old Black Man speak of…
And I believe these false hopes and dreams that I have so willingly wrapped myself in each and everyday of my life.
I reside in the realm of obedience and believe that nothing will happen to me as I roll down the street, blast my music and lay with any and everyone I choose to place my shoes at.
And as I take a sip of this Henny and draw in the smoke of this spiked blunt….
I gladly accept this liquid within my veins as these demons continue to whisper sweet lies within my ears.
And it is all because I believe that as long as I continue to believe that this is the best life to live, I will continue to believe that this is just one of the best lies I will ever be told.
I am everything that I am not supposed to be.
Trapped between these misinterpretations of how a black man is supposed to be.
And what a black man is not supposed to be.
My foundation is weak, and I know that it is, so therefore I patch it up daily with dreams of being great.
But nail them down with stereotypes, ignorance, shame, hurt, regret, and anger.
Can nobody tell me about my hurt not even this Old Black Man.
Can nobody tell me that I should care when I know that as soon as I get that opportunity to get this money I’m going to splure and flash it on every social media site I am active on.
I am going to get my girl’s hair and nails done and go chill with the homies while I try to slide by my side piece house before I go and pick my main up and hit up this block party later on tonight.
And I am going to teach my son that this is the best life to live while I try to explain to my daughter that she can be any and everything in the world but she is going to have to survive this life first...
I will hold no regrets until I am no longer free….
Tears will not escape from my eyes because that isn’t what a man is supposed to do.
I am Black and Ignorant…and I will remain this way until I decide to break this cycle.
(To be continued…)
Published 18th Jul 2021
Author's Note
I want to always give people something to think about after reading my poems. If I offend some people I will not apologize because at this time, I believe things need to change, and I will continue to push myself to write about things that some people may not be okay with writing about.
Although I would rather my writing to be interpreted in the readers way, by no means do I want it to be misinterpreted, Black and Ignorant is a combination of individuals it is not about one person. So although it is written as if that is the case by no means that is not the case. I wrote from a place where I knew would result in feedback that I welcome because I cannot grow and improve myself without honest feedback. But I wanted to let this be known.
Although I would rather my writing to be interpreted in the readers way, by no means do I want it to be misinterpreted, Black and Ignorant is a combination of individuals it is not about one person. So although it is written as if that is the case by no means that is not the case. I wrote from a place where I knew would result in feedback that I welcome because I cannot grow and improve myself without honest feedback. But I wanted to let this be known.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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18th Jul 2021 3:43am
Food For Thought--
I tend to like the situation--intra-personal dialogue. A poem about the stories the speaker tells himself.
There's a matrix, a kind of marrow of mental / spiritual energy between the individual & the world, the individual inheritor of much of this, but the collective also being external to his particulars...and it's in this matrix that much is uttered, back and forth.
Herein resides this poem.
There's an interesting call-response structure of the poem: OBM challenges, and the B&I...responds? Maybe...
Echoes of Langston Hughes, I think.
I'd enjoy it more if the 2nd half didn't seem to punt, by virtue of (what this reader perceives to be) nihilistic indulgence / sarcasm...
The details in the 2nd half are good, the way you capture so many aspects of contemporary life for black males in the States, but the degree to which the persona seems to wallow in these contradictions limits how much I can enjoy it.
Thanks!
I tend to like the situation--intra-personal dialogue. A poem about the stories the speaker tells himself.
There's a matrix, a kind of marrow of mental / spiritual energy between the individual & the world, the individual inheritor of much of this, but the collective also being external to his particulars...and it's in this matrix that much is uttered, back and forth.
Herein resides this poem.
There's an interesting call-response structure of the poem: OBM challenges, and the B&I...responds? Maybe...
Echoes of Langston Hughes, I think.
I'd enjoy it more if the 2nd half didn't seem to punt, by virtue of (what this reader perceives to be) nihilistic indulgence / sarcasm...
The details in the 2nd half are good, the way you capture so many aspects of contemporary life for black males in the States, but the degree to which the persona seems to wallow in these contradictions limits how much I can enjoy it.
Thanks!
18th Jul 2021 3:45pm
