Anthology of the Black Millennials of the USA

Our goal is to bring together the stories, poetry, and artistic expression of black millennials. How they view and experience life in America as an individual of African descent. Submissions and questions are invited . 

[artist-picabia]

Otaïti, 1930, Francis Picabia

[aotbmotusa]

I wanna be making money like

Making money like

close toed sandals joging in freezin winter

Like

gentrificated aided property elevated costs

Walk round DC

Spider senses going off

This ain't right

Dark chocolate turning to milk white

Condos like

Hi

did you know that we run this bitch

Broke ass niggas try to trip and get pistol whipped

Or worse get your house eclipsed by the almighty dolla

All this shit is a sign

Open season for class migration this shit changing

For the better?

Yo headass better get the fuck outa here

Communities dropping tears for some decades to get some proper education opportunities and less pain

Issa shame

That darker often placed in the lowest from the Indian caste to the to the artist in the moma

Home of free and the brave

But wouldn't no one know it

So it's

Yet another stain in history

The culture of a city smothered so uppers and live and be

Happy complacent immatating a city life they were never raised in

They act as if they save

But their 2 degree jogs and whole foods are just a nod

A tip of the hat

That times will change

But the patterns will not

From the great white flight

To the plight of the natives

This is probably the only gentrification poem I'll ever write

But those open toed sandals when it was like -1 degrees were a sad sight

~ @sallgud

[aotbmotusa]

Black balled

By my own pen

Writters block led to inkblots

A rorshach test of my emotions

With inconclusive results

And strong reactions

Abandonment was felt most

A skill I called my own

Squirmed into a crevice

Shrivelling away at my touch

The colorful manifestations it exuded

Turned to monochrome reruns

Memories of a sensation

Of anger sadness and elation allowing themselves to pour out freely

Stories locked behind eyes

Danced their way into existence across words

My loves

I remember when they turned their heads from me

Misguided doubt birthed a criticism

One I had been unaccustomed to

It nestled it's way into my creation

Spitting at the words I'd laced together

Burning my meanings to dust

Clotting the ink of the pen till i had to force the once flowing to release

So I don't blame

My creation for hiding

It's abandonment was understandble

Pushed away it only tried to stay safe

Now I keep watcher within at bay

and begin to recreate my space

~ @sallgud

[cvcvmbr]

a lovely hermione <3

[grindst0ne-blog1]

JUXTAPOSITONAL AUTHORITY

I recently read an article about Australian Psych-Rock that was written by a dude from/living in Los Angeles, CA. Such juxtapositional authority has become typical & out of hand. It reminds me of how Malcolm X once lamented about the voice of the civil rights movement at the time being primarily clowns as he called them, entertainers and beloved athletes who’s prominence in society was mainly derivative of their commercial appeal rather than focused resolve in origin.

So many articles/lists/BRANDS/COMPANIES capitalize & feign focus on regions that they’re most often absent from, feigning informed authority. This is blatantly disrespectful to the intersectionality that the parties in subject present; Constantly one-dimensionalizing entities by providing a narrative based on the most evident and superficial consistencies, more than likely physical or consistent themes in aesthetic or likenesses. In most digital journalism these days, the content and character of the subject in observation is boiled down and sacrificed to the omni-limited palette of the apathetic and disconnected consumer, more than likely on the basis of likability much more so than real world viability and applicability. I realize that it has been like this long before I was born.

Underprivileged communities, under represented individuals, and artists suffer the most when outsiders define the narrative that the rest of the world tunes in to & gathers empathy for their character from. We all have heroes from our hometowns in our psyche who could have genuinely produced game-changing results in their fields had someone with resource been able to witness their ability in the proper context and environments. I have vivid memories of groups of children cranking D.C artist Lightshow on the A6/A8 etc, community type, but someone from out of town has no access to these memories, and the chances are zero to none that a kid on the bus follows the newspaper reporter making the next regional top 10 list that’ll define the local hierarchy for the next few months.

It is gentrification. The communities & artists  featured by the media are always either the creme of the most mainstream applicable (w/ honorable mentions going to the most pretentious non-conformists), or the archetype bad examples who we are taught to either reject or learn from their missteps.  All who get their first impression from the outsiders’ (mis)interpretation of what really goes on are none the wiser. The causes of what made these entities are no where near close to being initially considered. The myth of the self-made entity is the root of all consumerism and a revisionist’s apology for capitalism, and it is a fountain of poverty and wealth begetting eachother. Us electing officials and accepting the narratives of outsiders to our home interests breeds the craving for authenticity that works us and our idols to death in search of, vainly and vampirically draining our company of all savvy from the world outside of our chosen focuses and feeds.

We so often opt to accept, and, even more prevalently than ever now, we strive to invalidate or propose superlative parallels to what is plead rather than to simply empathize with someone’s sharing of their understanding so far, which is definitely not to say that people are predominantly apt to be inoffensive when sharing theirselves either.

As long as we look to essentially uninformed and unbiased entities to determine our savvy’s as our guides to the unknown, we will never escape the cycle of sampling our salvation until the next issue of it brands it obsolete.

[grindst0ne-blog1]

UNIVERSAL ADDRESS (001)

If you are making art to be liked, loved, or perhaps to become the most globally adored, hang it up. If you are making art to be understood, or create change, then I suggest that you  humbly accept the task of becoming the spark that inspires the next chapter of the resistance. Shit is particularly fucked, and everyday I find out that an artist who’s career I admired had been connected with the right people from the conception of their career, dashing the barely-there hope that the system is not lottery based and oligarchic. Finding out that coveted credit is due is the worst. For me, it is almost worse for people to be generally okay with it more and more as time goes on, as more and more influential entities are exposed as tools or hollower vessels than implied. It seems to be out of fear that people wait for the reaction of the celebrity they’ve worshipped to gauge how they feel about them being exposed as much worse or even contradictorily to what they portray. People do this unless they can’t hear their fave’s defense over the consensus, selective outrage of the masses who all watch the same shows on the same streaming services, listen to the same music from one of three different radio stations targeted to their demographic in the area, and feel one of two or so ways about the same politicians. When the choice of what is actually acceptable is not a person’s to make anymore, they as well as their actions are much more easily manipulated, or at the very least deeply influenced by what flatters or threatens them; Especially that which fits the mold of something they have always wanted to have or become. I struggle to break free of this conditioning and behavior of the sort still. So many of us are conditioned to follow leads. So many of us are taught to do what we’re told, pressured to like what is served to us from the moment we can understand language. We are taught to be liked and non retaliative. In this depravity, we grow accustomed to enduring inhumane durations of spiritual understimulation, compensating for our emotional starvation and imbalances with chosen personas and feeds on the internet. A certain addiction to novelty has now reached full power, destroying our attention spans & damming our ability to identify & connect with not only our true selves within, but anything else that we experience unless it is in accordance with the rules. We’ve been desensitized to natural stimulation, and have now become dependent on either sex, violence, or feigned champions of prudence to get a rise or even a brief breath of identity out of ourselves. The tides of robophilia jokes and technological innovations that we partake in as a unit are of no coincidence. We ingest far more digital text a day than we hear eachother’s voices! What do you think our palettes are more accustomed to now, digital or physical interactions? Think of how many people are isolated, daily. In homes full of people, segregated by room, gender, and level of income. In each of those rooms occupied by a person all alone is either a televison, laptop, or phone if not all three. On all three of those devices, carefully and intentionally chosen programs are remotely chosen from. Commercials are presented based on the person’s previous browsing history or choice of channel, each one catered to a spectrumized effort of making  you feel like you are just missing the FUCK out on something that you damn sure do not get everyday, or at least don’t have today. Things that cost and utilize so much more than what you were born having. The constant stream of beautiful, beautiful intangible things that you are subjected to in  coping with not having, especially and most intentionally during your isolation, are presented to you so that the insecurities derivative of this trauma develop an addiction to whatever fleeting moment of gratification you get by the time you can finally afford a sample of the soon to be obsolete issue. Celebrity [in] culture thrives because every now & then, an anomaly arises from their regional petri dish with the ability to differentiate their conditioning from their true self, thinking freely and therefore rebelliously in a consumer’s world in which they are outnumbered; They stick out like a sore, bloody thumb; their wounds from the trauma of being an independent thinker squeezed as their beauty and uniqueness ooze out until their death, drenching all who are in earshot of the industry’s ultra-persuasive siren in the aforementioned blood, and no one can tell who is a celebrity or not, wannabes who strive to be included bathe in the blood shed from authenticity past, as the addiction to the blood worship persists! Insatiably, we still scour relentlessly for traces of real artistry, hoping to find tan needles in a world of haystacks, despite the omni-market making discernment impossible. We are so depraved of hope and competence due to this, that we’ll fuck around, elect Oprah after Trump!  The golden era for consumption never ends in a capitalist system. if u can’t buy it you’re going to it, you’ll get it 1way or another. At best we can compare the quality of music from one period to another, but no era is void of the control system. Maybe there was a time of global solidarity that pre-dates slavery in which merchants and artists shared the goal of every citizen on earth having access to what they felt was the art that transcended superficiality and language. There never was a time of global prosperity, or a time void of industrial corruption. That’s just the winners selling you the dream that they didn’t scout & steal talent/ideas, concepts, or capitalize on others to be in position to tell you otherwise; selling you the dream that you can work hard and cover the ground that someone directly connected in to someone in power person inherits. Upward mobility is the appetizing falsehood that prepares you for a lifetime’s serving of unjust compromise to your masters. We have to reject the notions that we are living in a desegregated world with equal opportunity. We are living on a planet that is under the control of a few companies focused on making sure we never reclaim our earth, freedom, liberty, and true connection to the universe and the hereafter.

- SIR E.U

[crochetkingpin]

I’m Not Enough

I’m not enough to get you flowers every Monday,

Chocolates every Friday, love poems every Wednesday

To get you over the hump.

I not enough to bring you peace,

Or a piece of peace.

A minute slither of peace of mind is extra hard

For me to find so why settle.

You settle dust like on me,

Waiting for someone more suitable of your gems

To dust you off this old toy.

I’m not enough,

No six packs or smooth skin.

No perfect coils that weave into locks.

I whisper too loud, talk too much, think too often

And save too many comments.

My touch is rugged, my voice is high, and I have no lips.

How am I supposed to give you a deep passionate, loving kiss

With non-existing lips…

I’m not enough,

Scared to dance in clubs…

That’s why I only ask you in poetry spots,

On the mic, when you can only wonder if I’m speaking to you.

Well I am, and I don’t want you to answer,

Because I’m not able to handle yes…

Too afraid of no.

Too nervous to ever let you get close.

I’m not publicly affectionate,

I’m vague.

Too conscious for my own good.

Known to tear myself to pieces

And hope you would read them.

I’m not enough to engage you in

Conversation…

Tend to rhyme,

Also know to whine,

That’s why people tend not to

Date me for a long period of time.

I speak in rhythm.

I walk to the beats in my own head,

Tend to let them escape from my mouth.

I’m not enough…

Often to shy to take those chances,

Frozen when it comes to young ladies

Who shoot me glances,

I mean I burned down the bulls eye,

And bricked up my weaknesses, right?

So why do I tend to write and share my heartbreaks

Every night…

This is my daily plight,

To grow,

To be enough to not have to bring you flowers

Or strive to bring you happiness.

To be enough to ask you out, and mean it…

To not be worried if our rhythms match…

Hell… lets our off-beat medley build and meld

Because I am the no lipped, loud whispering, odd ball that you see…

Who hustle’s for peace of mind… and is still learning

How to smile and laugh at jokes…

To be comfortable about my past and live for the now…

To grow and be enough…for myself.

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[crochetkingpin]

Coming From Where I’m From – Extended Verse

I was made is southeast. Raised in southeast, Worked hard, got a job, and get paid in southeast. Been shy, met women, and got laid in southeast, Spit flows at rap shows and face shade in southeast. I stay southeast. Even when out of town, They see the way I rock my crown and they say “southeast”. There’s a bunch of folks that’s scared to come around southeast. Many folks that ain’t even been found in southeast. Talk wrong shit to the right one in southeast Bullets spray, you another lost son in southeast. We rock shirts, wishing our loved ones “rest in peace” Cause they choked on the beef, met defeat in southeast. The heat in southeast. All blocks are hot, Feds run up in the spot where you eat in southeast. Blue lights, no special, just beast in the in southeast. Red lights, no special, ain’t no TLC. But things change, we got some new whites in southeast. Comfortable, bought land, raise a fam in southeast. Jog past the liquor store, ride bikes in the street, Making money working at homeland security. New office building and a waterfront in southeast. Didn’t know the value of our property in southeast. My hood turning good, rent rising for me. Landlord saying that it time to pay a hire fee. But I’m so southeast. Peep in my DNA, My double helix seem to just say southeast. But that’s the way of the beast, Best be preparing to change my life around and represent PG. But it ain’t just southeast, the whole city looking ivory.

New outlet for Nike in the city of ivy,

Right down the street from “Tri-Trinidad”

New condos designed for Becky and the fam.

Bleach in the streets, seems all the colors running.

Blacks in the neighborhoods like “master’s coming”

White flight in reverse, Northwest to the Southside,

Stack your money, property taxes hiked where you reside.

Anacostia lookin’ like H street in 02,

It’s only a matter of time till they do MLK like U.

Take your venues, your homes, and your places of recreation,

Add some new paint, evict you and call it renovations,

From the Nola to Detroit, Harlem to Oakland

It ain’t just DC y’all,  it’s the whole nation!

The country treats us like they treat us, if you ain’t rapping or playing ball,

Get in where you fit in, and that’s nowhere at all.

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[aotbmotusa]

When I write

I don't ever use my voice

Rather I act as a vessel for voices unheard

I treasure my lost days the most

Those voids I have filled with my fantasy

A lie coaxing my being into languidity

I seek nothing more than comfort

Solace from my past

Keys litter a hallway of locked doors

Their surfaces painted with elaborate depictions my manifested fears

A deterrent of my own curriosity

Cling to me baby

I'll keep you safe

You stay away from the monsters and nothing will hurt you

A child is only to be privy to so much

Sheild she who's innocence is at risk

Let me be her gaurd

Shhh

For within silence we hear the truth

The distankt drip of a faucet

Miles away

The crack of a dam takes shape

The flood it cleanses with such torment

TAKE TO ARMS

We the just and righteiuss

State our claim

Our disdain for end is challenged only by it to begin again

Take your place and face destiny

Abhor it's inmnenent design as chaos shall reign to sustain

That

Which

Falls from a tear

Embrace be jouyus my child and reveere for you are anointed

Blessed by cleaning waters themselves

Welcome it with open arms

The end is nye

As we shall begin anew

[aotbmotusa]

You know when my poetry come out When I don't feel that my eyes and heart don need to be justified Placed under a microscope and made easy to consume Metaphors I used to use Were blue blood vessels beneath the skin Untouched Unfettered Unfiltered Rather than specks of glitter littered on carboard and glue words Just tryna make a bland thing shine Release the necessity of the mind Let the ego be The pride come out To waterboard doubt like it been fucking me over Pull that bitch ass hyperanalytical anxeity up and let it be known that I retake my home New naturalness retakes my foundation I line my library shelves with new volumes of me I've lived in a doubt filled crack house where I can act out and lead myself south But you should only fly so far when escaping the winter After the third trup around the earth you've gone too far This was something like a door or maybe a shutter beginning to open My home reclaimed I begin to realign the mind energy and spine I've begun again before But now I must finish what I'd begun An opening has occurred an enlightenment of expression and sight My dam has begun to fall And all begins to flow as it had Feeling expression sight and all

~Unsomeone 

[sallgud]

I watch the dam day by day 

Cracks have reached so deep 

New sealant wont set 

 I built this dam with my own hands 

Fearing its inevitable demise 

And the current that wishes to be free 

Ill have to endure the flood 

Watch trees ive placed around the now trickling stream 

Be swept away 

As the river resumes its roll 

Nature cannot be controlled simply suppressed or diverted  

But it shall act as it is meant to 

Tears been built up so long the water is murky 

Old leaves still lie on the salty surface 

Ill sit listening 

Watching 

Waiting for the wall to crumble  

So I may be taken 

Embraced 

And drowned in the tears ive pushed back for so long 

~ @sallgud

[winzdaylove]

Her

And I can’t help but wonder what’s it’s like to be pretty like her To be pretty like she Worshiped as if she’s the prototype of the life tree Skin bright like beach sand “Caramel” cute Hair that blows in the wind Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be pretty like she Unbothered because I know they’ll all come running back to me RAspect from first sight Cause in the dark I’m still light? Never having to walk the school halls with red wrist , coarse hair, all the while the kids are yelling “blackie”. In my heart I’m screaming FREE ME please release me from this skin that feels cursed as if I was born into sin Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be pretty like she Untainted by the memories of frowned stares, blank stares, disgusted looks As if I’m still that slave in their US history text books? They see envy But all I feel is pain They taught me this They branded this on the back of my neck Burnt it onto my brain with every click of the tv switch Etched it with the tip of their whips on the front of my chest Sometimes I just fucking wonder what it’s like to be pretty like SHE Ms.Lady with the pink lips, soft skin, and tight hips No wide lips, no wide hips And I wonder what’s it’s like to not wish I could be her To appreciate this melanin I had born within me Connecting me to the roots of my innermost being But my pride is dying My EYES is lying My HEART is crying At too many lovers gone blue See I THOUGHT you were the truth Cause you looked just like me And in your spirit I know the divinity is as close to you as your misery I understand now- Like me-you wanna be just like she

[aotbmotusa]

Words I've Heard

Ignored Misheard Deterred Detained Chained Blamed Shamed Abussed Manipulated Claimed to be insane But i still try To accept those who are the reasons for my given names As my people Why BECAUSE Ive been told i need to This is a poets plea At any open mic I always feel sadness of honesty and release of fear wipe across the room When at least one person must say I WILL NOT BE THE VICTIM OF A PIGS GUN I always feel the raw power and golden lack of shame when one declares WE ARE BEAUTIFUL BADASS MELANATED PEOPLE WITHOUT A SEQUAL WE SHALL NOT FEAR AND ONLY SHED TEARS FOR THE LOST FOR THE CAUSE WE UNDERSTAND THE COST OF FREEDOM IS HIGH BUT UNDERSTAND DEATH DON'T MEAN THAT WE DIE I try I Try I TRY Not to lie upon the floor the moment And wakeup No matter how aware I am this isnt a nightmare This is a lifemare ~Unsomeone, 2016

[aotbmotusa]

Since I was around 6 everything ive read has always had a major effect on me

These have held deep places in my heart since i was young For they brought me into first glimpses of artistic maturity  Such books as these claimed my time like no other, allowing me as a first grader to sink deeply into every colorfilled association to a word I began to tell stories to anyone  Simply to see the illustrations of my mind that would fill my vision with every rushed on the spot line

Upon introduction to novels I wouldnt look back at drawings for quite a while  These taught me immersion Rather than hearing the story and simply seeing is occur before you dictated by word and illustration  You found yourself immersed in a world created purely by word, the occasional drawing, and the imagination  Id spend every day creating my own worlds of words Often bringing them into an existence of sorts placing myself and my siblings within the worlds where we could be whatever the world allowed us to be 

Comics and graphic novels came after novels for me Being able to see both the stories of a novel and the illustration of a childs book  Brought me much joy  I found my self obsessed with the lore and characters I can probably still name you 60% of every marvel character before 2010 and tell you their powers  For hours upon hours Id fill notebooks and sketch pads with my own charaters and lore till the point I almost started a comic But  Alas  eh it wasnt that good lol 

This age in my reading growth was interesting  It all started with a book on Lord Krishna in the back of a Bellydance studio in Takoma Park, MD It was my first time besides watching Hercules and reading about some Egyptian gods; that id really began to delve into any kind of mythology The library became my home away from home Day after day id spend hours mulling through every book on mythology that i could find  Norse Egyptian Roman Chinese  Indonesian West African   Didnt matter where it was from  It fascinated me and became a defining topic for my friends and I  Along with this newfound love of mythology came a deep appreciation of history and war Idk where the war came in but the the history and mythology for me went hand in hand

Umi Ayesha my history and social studies teacher And my best friends mother I will forever be grateful for her forcing a bunch of 10-12 year olds to read about the truth of American History  Id always learned about the lies of this country from my parent but she truly gave us an in depth look into it and material to learn about it  These are only a few of the books she advised us to read

As i grew older Id begun to find books more and more as my solace Writings I can relate to, learn from, and escape through Reading became more a pasttime than a passion Poetry and autobiographies littered my shelves as I always loved to hear a person speak from their heart  It became sad era in my book interest because over the years id become so into reading what everyone else was writing id stopped being able to write from my own heart  Id struggle for weeks trying to spill out a for some reason blocked heart  But I never could So i gave up Went back to constantly reading another individuals feelings upset that i couldnt express my own

4 years back at 14 years old I found myself pursuing my mothers book shelf looking into her books on spirituality  We were a non religious household  We always learned about Most High/God/The Creator/etc. and learned about ancestors But we never really learned about spirituality itself Id always been very tied to Science and the concept of spirituality seemed stupid and makebelive to me Answers for the unexplained by the great and all powerful physical science I was 14 young Im still a youngin But not as much of a youngin that I was then I found myself delving into spirituality learning about chakras Ma’at Higher consciousness  Sacred geometry  All that jazz but it was still a side thing for me i wasnt really serious about it more so interested

And here 15-16 years of age we reach my most drastic switch based on books  Id always been in a deeply afrocentric revolutionary mentality black community in DC  But it was only those 2-3 years ago I truly embraced it in full forces  Had all my Hidden Colors  Ankh and a big Africa pendant hanging from my neck  Hated weave and mainstream rappers with a passion All i needed to reach full Hotep status was to kall everyone Kang and Kween and bit more misogyny Lol but i digress Honestly this era really gave me insight into african and world history And the an understanding of our current condition as black people in the USA  Honestly movies like Hidden Colors and books like the Isis Papers do have good content just do your own research afterwards and understand that they have an opinion on certain things and they arent forcing their opinions on you You dont have to respect their opinions just brush em off if they offend you  its like reading the bible  You dont have to agree with everything thats in there  But there is stuff you can learn from it Be confident in your own beliefs

And we return back to spirituality  I claimed I was so many different things in one year I was Buddhist  Atheist  Agnostic  Non Religious Was gonna give my life to Jesus  Was gonna do LSD  Was gonna go buy crystals Was putting sage in my locs  It was a mess created by my insatiable desire to know and feel certain things 

It was months later till I started solidifying my feelings on spirituality and religion understanding the political, economic, social, and spiritual purposes of different religions around the world and throughout history  I decided to go to the roots African religions Certain truths became apparent to me  And i ended my claims of religions simply waiting for someday id come across one or id have my own spiritual journey without religious construct I spent a lot of time really focusing on history and honing my passion for it (although Id only really focused on African history 

Now at 18 years old  Lol i honestly have barely read a book in the past year Ive come to peace with my spiritual decisions and path  I plan on either pursuing the fields of psychology or history when I start college this fall  Books have always kinda made me who I am  I was always known as the guy with 15 books in his bag at any given time  But ive found a bit of freedom from books as of late Not constantly trying to fill my head has given me space to get to know myself and better know the people and the world around me I still occasionally read now But the books no longer make up my life If you read all this I didnt right it for any purpose but to share my love of books and how theyve touched my life 

[sallgud]

A Black Poetry Experience

White people in America will never know the heavy anticipation when they enter an poetry open mic

Knowing that at some point you will hear an artist cry to the world about their people dying on the streets

They will hear the screams of pain that paint a picture of their children, men, and women bleeding out on the street or in a cell killed by those meant to protect them

They will not feel the tears begin to well up in their souls as a poet throws their fears of not being able to feel safe anywhere, knowing they can be killed at any moment

They wont ever truly feel the chills as a poet shouts SAY HER NAME and the room erupts into a beacon for a lost sisters soul

They wont feel the fire in their hearts, as a speaker stands strong and steadfast denying the regime of oppression and you know youd stand by him/her

They wont feel the proud golden excellence exude from their pores as a the poet speaks truth and freedom to the highest point

They wont ever be able to feel the energy thats left behind as a poet leaves the stage his/her mind and soul still still standing proud as applause and snaps fill the room in support of his/her defiance of the black baby blood sacrifices made to USA everyday They wont ever leave that open mic Knowing this will happen at the next one  And the next And the one after that They dont know the pain

[sallgud]

FUND AND SUPPORT INDEPENDENT BLACK SCHOOLS IN YOUR AREA

Seriously Supporting those is exactly what we need Y'all wanna really help black lives matter and all these black movements SUPPORT OUR NEXT GENERATION Seeing an article on the Atlantic reminded me how serious this is Growing up in a Pan-African community in Washington, DC I’ve always been seeing and visiting black independent schools And watching them deteriorate and fall due to lack of funding and support

These schools are some of the most important foundations to our new black generations They are more than places of education They are places of gathering, unity, and preserving culture for people of African descent in the USA

GO OUT AND SUPPORT THEM Don’t sit on your assess and just reblog When they have community events visit Get the word out Support them any way you can

The education for our children and future children is so very vital Many of us have only IG, Twitter, and Tumblr to unlearn the lies that have been taught in public schools Think about If you had the opportunity to learn what you know now in elementary - highschool In your daily classess Not having lies forced down your throat every day

An environment for truth, black love, unity, and power Thats the environment that needs to be maintained thats the environment that is dying

So get online Get to searching and support independent black schools in your area

[travelingasafamily]

“The Author Explains good kid, m.A.A.d. City To His White Friend While Driving Through Southeast Ohio” by Hanif Abdurraqib

“…and anyway, we ain’t all grow up the SAME kinda poor. I know them country boys out here wanna act like the blunt be some vice for the uncivilized but don’t we all feel better settin’ fire to some shit when we with the homies? ain’t that how so many white crosses made the fields dry and empty after the black families moved too close to town? God knows I be of a complexion responsible for so many empty harvests. so many hungry daughters, and we still don’t know what to do with all this violence but put one of them big gold frames around it and pray it might sell a million copies or somethin so our mothers can get up out them homes with the leaning bricks, that is if they still breathing. don’t nobody out here know what that is. fields out here might just need a good song, ‘least that’s what the end of a good whip used to whisper into the backs of my great-great-great ancestors. last week, heard your moms say the dairy queen off route 36 was “ghetto” and I figured that meant it been sandwiched between a juke that only played Sam Cooke and a grandmotherly sort who never stops swaying when the wind calls, just trynna stay alive since she don’t know what’s next cuz she stopped believing in heaven when all her children caught them bullets for wearing red or blue or the night on their skin, but it turns out the dairy queen was just out of vanilla soft serve. the men out in the fields here be letting the sun cook their skin bright pink, chewin’ on those big cigars like “why can’t they just get back to the good old days when a fistfight could solve it all?” but trayvon and jordan and ‘em still dead, and we still only know the way to fill something empty be with these songs or some other shit loud and covered in smoke”

Poem: http://vinylpoetry.com/volume-10/page-12/

Image by Titus Kaphar 

http://trendland.com/titus-kaphar-rework-renaissance-paintings/