Black 3.0 (Poem)

​Stuck permanently on defense, with offense existing to us as a mere concept--
what purpose does it serve to ​defend a life you're never truly allowed to live?
This canvas--one of the many I created that often go unnoticed in favor of the mediocre and overhyped dribblings Susie and Brad brainfarted onto a keyboard, while in their brick-walled, uptown apartment--
this canvas isn't one of a field of soothing sunflowers or a calming cascade, composed with the utmost precision and detail; 
this is a splatter painting composed of noxious greens, murky browns, and piss yellows to symbolize what has replaced the blood, the dreams, and the prosperity ripped from our skulls and chest. 
If the palette makes you uneasy and nauseous, I am pleased.  I'm amused I succeeded in causing you at least momentary agitation, the way you all have orchestrated and ignored our genuine and justified agitation centuries now.
Only The Maker can tally the destroyed visions and aspirations.
Yet, we're arrogantly and heartlessly expected to successfully navigate a hostile world already cursed before such a demonic device was devised.
So sick and demented are these beings, who parade themselves as humans, they demand we be real men out of one of their putrid mouths and then crucify us out the other for devoting our very beings to protecting and providing for our wives, sons, and daughters.
Rather than exaltation and esteem the White 3.0 beings, who parade around as men, get,
we get the trans/homphobia. 
We get the "You're being toxic."
We get the "You're talking too loud."
We get the "Other people are oppressed, too."
We get the "I feared for my life."
We get the shitty attitudes and microaggressions from Susie at work because she's bitter her Brad is subpar in his biological duties, and she needs to justify in her head he's sufficient by taking it out on us, when, deep down, we satisfy every manly criterion she longs for but can express...out of her corrupted and vile excuse for a Homosapien. 
We're convicted by the female collective as beasts who can't control the very worst of human impulses while they, simultaneously, hold in high esteem and give the benefit of the doubt to the very barbarians who slaughter school children and concert-goers, who make whole buildings collapse, and who instigate conflicts between peaceful nations.  

Addiction would be justifiable for us more than anyone, being the system we attempting to cope with and evade,
but there are no supervised drug injection sites or "these people need serious counseling and therapy"--
only isolation, prison rape, destroyed generations, the deafening silence
of societal apathy. 
This excuse for a civilization, calling itself the United States, silently shrieks to the bottom of its lungs, daily, the constant mantras:
Incarceration is a nigga problem; it's not my problem.  
Generational poverty is a lazy nigga problem; it's not my problem.
Gentrification is a nigga problem; it's not my problem.
Police murder of black people in their homes--it's not my problem. 
Job place discrimination--not my problem.
The purposeful sexual confusion of black children--it's not my damn problem.
Black people being destroyed mentally, spiritually, and physically and being inhibited and sabotaged in every area of society--it's
All that said
with all that dread, 
I would never trade in that 3.0. 
For, it's the illustrious uniform of those who, exclusively, built this nation from scratch--one no other man nor woman can accurately nor properly display.  

I would never trade in the 3.0 for the fact The Maker tasked us with this challenge attached to it.  
The responsibilities coupled with African melanin are immense and gargantuan, but The Maker charged us with them to show the world the true vision of what the epitome of mankind should be.
To become bitter because of such bigotry would be the same and becoming The Other,
and doing so would desecrate the value of our divine mission.  
Therefore, let us engage in becoming the most pristine examples of mankind;
let us decapitate this satanic system whilst exhibiting the pinnacle of humankind with the utmost precision.

From the Soul,  

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