You’ve diagnosed me as pain less
But I’ve told you that it hurts when you remove my heart.
I can feel the scorn in your hands of oppression around my neck.
When you pierce my eye with your surgeon’s scalpel,
so that I can’t see you remove my brother’s life from my side.
You say we can’t feel pain
But it hurts when you stare
And when you pretend we don’t exist.
When you call us stupid degenerates regardless of having more years of education than you all.
We can recite the law you constantly break upon our backs.
And it hurts too
And when you force us out of our jobs because of our melanin skin.
And yet you all continue to stare like spectators at a match.
It’s the FA cup final and you’re chomping at the bit
For some black blood.
But this is Britain, so your excitement is reserved.
And you expect us to keep a stiff upper lip, while denying us our British heritage to our faces.
All bets for black blood are “under the table”.
Like a mental institution Doctor Whiteface,
Your island really is full of crackers.
©The Wallflower Speaks Loudly, 2018