Why am I raped?

Am I not good enough

Am I a trash

Why so messed up

Why so childish

When will I ever be a giraffe
I want to be a lion 
Why can't I just be matured 
So young so confused 
I am a lost rat 
Wondering off the streets

So powerful so eager
I roam around the world 
I spread my wings like a eagle I fly 
Searching for a better tomorrow 
The immature has lowered it's wings and fell to the ground 
I am mature

I am a youngster who just wants a better tomorrow
The best for our country 

Because we are not free
Freedom is just a concept

I still respect those who fought for our freedom
Even thou we disrespect them through our actions

What does freedom actually mean to you?
Does it mean doing whatever you want?

I say to you rapists
You have to free yourself from yourself

Then you will feel the taste of freedom
The sweet honey and milk of freedom

Because now it's still sour and bitter to you cold hearted

RANDOM NOTES TO MY SON

Beware, my son, words
that carry the loudnesses 
of blind desire also carry 
the slime of illusion 
dripping like pus from the slave's battered back

e.g. they speak of black power whose eyes
will not threaten the quick whitening of their own intent 
what days will you inherit? 
what shadows inhabit your silences? 

I have aspired to expression, all these years,
elegant past the most eloquent word.                                            But here now
our tongue dries into maggots as we continue our slimy
death and grin.

 Except today it is fashionable to scream
of pride and beauty as though it were not known that 
'slaves and dead people have no beauty'

Confusion
in me and around me 
confusion. This pain was 
not from the past. This pain was 
not because we had failed 
to understand:

this land is mine

confusion and borrowed fears
it was. We stood like shrubs 
shrivelled on this piece of earth 
the ground parched and cracked 
through the cracks my cry: