Blickety Black
This poem is Blickety Black.
Blacker than the hot comb with burnt grease and skin
from the many times yo mama told you to hold yo’ ear, Black.
Blacker than a midnight diner trip in the south to the Waffle House on MLK Blvd
so Black, that if the cook ain't got a cigarette on his ear and
ain’t cussin' people out, you know it ain't bussin', Black.
This poem is Blickety Black.
Black like the sight of pin curl up-dos
Black like being suffocated by olive oil hairspray
Black like the gold tooth phase of the Freaknik era
Black like the fanny pack on yo’ hip so
I dip, you dip, we dip
Don’t stop! Get it! Get it!
This poem is Blickety Black.
Blacker than you and yo’ cousins havin’ an RnB sing-along to 90s RnB
Blickety Blackin’ not lackin’ when it comes to my rap game
Spannin’ from, “It was all a dream, I used to read Word Up! magazine,”
to askin’ folks to, “Hol’ up! Wait a minute! Y'all thought I was finished!?”
Hol’ up, wait a minute…
You thought this black affirmation was finished?!
I’m going Ultra Black.
I’m going stupid black.
This poem is the embodiment of black.
Black like the culture they try to take from us.
Black like the bodies they tried to steal from us.
Black like the voices they try to silence but they can’t even muzzle.
Black like the records we set but they can’t keep up with.
Black like my lips they try to duplicate.
Black like my body they try to replicate.
Chile… this poem so Black,
I think a Kardashian might try to claim it, Black.
Black like Chuck Berry did rock n’ roll.
Punk like Rock Fire Funk Express did rock.
Give me five on the black hand side like Charley Pride on country music.
Black like my gold bamboo earrings.
Black like my long, acrylic nails.
Black like there’s power in my name whether it be
Brenda, LaTisha, Linda, Felicia, Dawn, Leshaun, Ines, and Alicia.
Black like my slang came with a lil swang.
Black like late in the midnight hour my circumstances turn around.
Black as the dark sky filled with stars, comets, and solar systems.
Black like I wouldn’t be nothing else in this world.
This poem is Blickety Black.
This art is obsidian.
but this Black…
this Black, is us.
