i sit
waiting
watching
wishing for that bulge to
appear
always after we’ve smoked a
blunt or two
i knew that in a matter of time
it’s presence
would make clear
the reason i was here
the reason i loved yellow boys
the reason i would never marry
at least not in the eyes of God
the reason sons kill themselves or
leave their home never to return
the reason some little boys cry at night
longing for their father’s acceptance
his genuine love
attention
the reason why caged birds sing and
why flowers never blossom in the
back yards of little boys who liked to dress and
take care of others
no flowers bloomed for them only
balled fists with the power of buildings
falling on puppies or
sharp mean words loaded with hate like strategic tv
ruining the innocent minds of children who know not who they are
their destiny changed forever
god must have made the mistake of
puttin the delicious desire to be touched and caressed by strong black hands roughened with
calluses from building america and then carrying her burdens from
cotton to bridges for
colored only
less than equal
powerfully inferior yet
surviving strongly those
strong black hands that held mama’s when she pushed forth life this
life that they both created underneath a starry sky with a kiss from God the
same life those strong black hands would strike and abuse without a single touch
absent
the worst thing you can do to a person is to ignore them
the worst thing you can do to a son is to not care
is this what’s wrong with little black boys from the projects or
little black boys from the suburbs
do they become abandoned like a racehorse with a broken leg a
tampon after its’ purpose is satisfied
flushed down porcelain toilets with blue water
into oceans to be used and bullied by sharks and tidal currents
only to become a grown man lacking the confidence to believe in his own dreams
or the confidence to know he is all right; able and capable
of saving the world
peace, puppies and flowers are all birthed with the
necessity to be loved, nurtured, and accepted and
so do little boys who someday
realize they are
gay.
das what's up. i like this mcneil.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful poem.
ReplyDeleteYou're poetic therapy is not only healing you, but many others that are too afraid to look in a mirror.
ReplyDelete