Who Me?
This
skin, this hair, these lips, these feet, this backside are all the
evidence
and
proof I need that Africa is integral to me
Africa;
seat of humanity, civilisation, erudition; denuded by greed, still
suffering and bleeding.
This
mind, it's thoughts, these words, this culture are the legacy of my
European birth
I’m
an Afropean, take me to a museum,
Progeny
of a masterful strain, spawned by unnatural selection
This
man sings revolution, that man says do human revolution
Meaning
that any person - even me - who decides to and changes positively
Improves
their environment incrementally
That
is how we are gonna make world peace.
But
I say revolution is circling, rotating often stagnating
I
want to sing and do EVOLUTION
Inherent
improvement, exponential, expansion of potential.
Cos
what you fight you make stronger
A
battle against evil expands it, extends the journey makes it longer
Visibly
African, feeling European
Issue
of survivalist genes, shaped in animality, created in barbarity
Strength,
rage, tenacity, ingrained before puberty
Cultured
and nurtured on a continent of prosperity, created with ill gotten
gains
Still
sustained by slavery.
Chocolate
slaves definitely, sugar, tea, coffee, orange slaves by definition, a
surety
Though
most subscribe to the mendacity of the supposed abolition of slavery.
I’m
an Afropean put me in a museum, make a pseudo scientific exhibition
of me.
European
intercourse over the centuries, makes of me a stranger in my home
A
lowland culture that ignores it’s history, that celebrates and
honours genocidal stupidity
Ignorants
who pillaged so called primitive cultures, made a golden era from
rivers of blood
The
age old story of massacre and misery for financial glory
Walk
the streets of Aleppo, the story’s just the same
(*Define
for me clearly, I acknowledge those who have tried.
The
difference between zuilen and apartheid.*)
Tolerance
claimed here in abundance but tolerance is a filthy mire
Acceptance
is absent yet, that is what I require.
Many
times magnetised by a similarity of skin tone
Far
too often judged, rejected, too strange, too different, too unknown
Self
oppression and racism make this skin difficult to own
Lucky,
blessed to have been only metaphorically stabbed to the bone.
Name
me Afropean, neither one thing nor the other
Colour
does not define my sisters, it does assign my brothers
Look
elsewhere for explanations of my feminist opinions
I’m
now exploring the schisms of my outer and my inner.
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