i look in the mirror and i see a N****r

This is a piece that I read as kind of a spoken word piece. It reflects the thoughts that I had at 14/15 about being a black man.

i look in the mirror and i see a N****r.

We haven’t always been like this, have we? I remember when we were growing up, young, simple days and nights, when kids had no creed and we all knew we could succeed. We lived by the motto “ignorance is bliss”. We’d look at our hands and see hands. We’d look at our feet and see feet. We’d look at our face in the mirror and smile back. Back then, we didn’t need to see anything except what was right in front of us. Now we look in the in the mirror and glance behind us to see if there’s a knife in our backs, twisting whenever we flinch or cry, begging us to throw a punch, poking us like monkeys in a cage, itching to shatter our spines and scatter our minds across the pavement we walk along each night, so with no mirror to check we always walk backwards while trying to look forward to when the sun rises, but when the night’s poltergeists are struck with sunlight, the rays reflect off their batons and badges and the light reveals the tattoo on our backs.

One of these days they’ll hit the bullseye and you will sink into the ground.

You’re used to the way the asphalt feels on the side of your head, it’s like a pillow.

You’re used to the weight of a boot on your neck, it’s like a heavy chain.

You’re used to the way the cuffs slip onto your wrists, it’s like a watch

You’re used to the way the hood of a car feels against your cheek, it’s like a kiss from the sun.

You want to call yourself a martyr, but you know that your suffering has no purpose

You want to live like a man, but you’ll die as a black man

You want to survive, but to find ambition in this place is to go on a treasure hunt blindfolded and hogtied.

You want to prove them wrong, but if you stop dancing for them, your skin will turn grey.

When he looks in the mirror, he sees his father. But

the mirror will shatter and what he sees won’t matter.  

He finds his brothers in a cage. When he asks them

what age, he counts on his fingers and

the thought of it lingers that he

is reaching his expiration date.

He tries to find the key to their chains so his can be

unlocked, but as each candle blows out

he realises there is no key.

He was born with shackles and by the time

the fifteenth blows out he realises

they won’t let him out

until his dreads are touching the floor,

until the barred door opens he must endure the ground in his mouth

and the metal constricting his wrists

and ankles like silver serpents sending venom through his blood,

but there has always been poison in his bloodline.

He steps into the cage, his voice left outside.

He hopes he is heard.

His words from his heart and mind travel across the concrete jungle.

But as his hair starts to grow, he learns to know

that every syllable he spoke has been drowned out

by the gunshots of tomorrow.

He turns to the back of the cage. There is a mirror,

cracked and aged. He walks towards the glass,

the ball and chain tangling in his hair.

A candlelight of promise shines in his head, hoping he will see

a familiar face. Hoping he will see

hands as hands. Hoping he will see

feet as feet. Hoping his future will

shine brighter in the dark than the teeth on his face.

He looks in the mirror, and his candle is snuffed out.

He no longer sees himself. He no longer sees a man.

He looks in the mirror and he sees a N****r.

Author's Note

Just general feedback is greatly appreciated

Reviews

[EJ's Horror]

Look I'm all for free speech and all, but a real black-man would not use that word as he degrades his ancestors. I believe Oprah Winfrey said something along those lines a few years back.