To Know Myself

By Shertease Wheeler:

I submerge my hands in the dirt and gravel
to root myself; to know myself again.
Every second I’m alive, it’s a constant battle.
Fighting myself and fighting them, I may not ever win.

I suffer, then bare my everything to the mystical,
words into the darkness; releasing spiritual toxins.
But the anger remains, red as rage, in the physical,
restriction of freedom not intrinsic; I’m caged and locked in.

I purify my mind, purging the subliminal,
the messages, the recklessness of media sin.
But every turn I take is a reminder that we’re criminal.
No matter the mental capacity or accomplishments of me or my kin.

I scream for help from our young to the ancestral
that the change to our hearts, minds, and money should begin.
Divest in their culture, and be not delusional,
that investing in our own will make us better able to defend.

Thanks for reading!