An ode for that little black boy

An ode for that little black boy

This is an ode for that little black boy.
That boy you past down the street today.
Your coins heavy in your pocket because you felt your problems heavier than his.
Maybe he deserves it,
you say.
Maybe,
his the problem himself, a born of shame,
and you gifted with blessings,
that boys senses didn't make him as smart as you.

You say,
that boy didn't shoulder elephants each day.
Didn't bleed from seven till five to make a living like you did,
but that boy did not eat.
Hasn't tasted the foods you say you hate,
didn't have that choice.
Doesn't know about taxes or the internet,
that elephant that you carry chokes his throat,
he has no voice.
Your pocket heavy,
you walked by in your own world like it was different from his.
Maybe if he had even a bit,
just a glimpse,
he'd have a taste of what you say is worse.

You say he won't make it,
his life to you a fickle thread tossed away because it doesn't fit well with everything else.
It didn't make the tapestry stand out,
like he did when he held his hand out to you.
Withered as if on life support, like it took every ounce,
like he said aloud,
there is joy in giving,
if not to lessen the depression and stress you hold deep inside.
Let my smile be your bail money when your guilty conscious has you arrested,
makes you feel less of yourself.
Your shadow bigger once you've left,
because the elephant you carry no longer imaginary leaves a darkened trail that follows you.
You felt.
But shelve none of that,
because giving isn't just about material things,
give me your attention and acknowledge me as a human being,
just like you.


13/03/2018✅

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    1. Hey I'm glad you liked it. Thanks so much I appreciate the feedback.

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Good reads