White Stars
On the road less traveled,
The people are nice, working their assess off to get seat at the table.
Itβs not round, but all the plates are.
The dinner for tonight is the stemmed success with a side of monetary mushrooms.
But in the meantime,
At this time in their lives it doesnβt feel good.
Living in a hood with unwritten rules,
But written in blood because the red pens were doing time.
Set in stone mothers sons were on gravestones,
because blue faces were losing air under mattresses.
While on top of a twin bed, life sucks a brother dry like a sex worker.
Until legs stoped shaking and a dirty mouth gets cleaned with crack.
To attack impervious armor with the blade from a white knight.
Cutting through the tension and into his personality.
But reality still had lines to redden and blue boys to shoot with.
On a battlefield everybody charges over bodies,
that made love to brass bullets.
As the smell of sweaty desperation flows into harry nostrils. Mixing a perfect repugnance with an odor that used to come from armpits. Drums roll over rolling hills as they beat to its drummer.
For the songs to be sung to control the chaos around them.
For the solider to run and gun to blow away the competition.
Until the smoke clears, the bullets are emptied, and bodies are buried.
And the same solider that was ignored by a society,
is mythologized with notoriety in books of history.
A 39 year old history teacher dressed in a disgustingly yellow dress shirt tucks perfectly into his coffee stained khakis. He paces back in forth in front of the annoyingly lit classroom. Sweat stains begin to bleed through the wrinkled fabric after running across campus in less than 7 minutes. Getting coffee and a bagel from the teachers lounge before class begun at 8:10 seemed doable. That was until every teacher had the same idea.
He wiped the pasty white cream cheese and sesame seeds off the crevices of his chapped lips. Bored preteens all begrudgingly open thick history books. And the sins of the past begin to white wash the color black from a united state of mind.
βYou have to learn about history to never repeat itβ
Mr. Davidson says in-between his last couple bites from an everything bagel. His soulless, boring voice began to lecture on about the insidious racism that lead to the most soldiers dying in the history of Americaβs past time, war and civility.
Segregating two different colors from each other, because one though it didnβt need two to create a culture, of different cultures. Lessons were learned from the pain of that past. Inspiring a progression towards the future of the country, that was built by those who looked like me.
But this history will always be his story to tell. Ending happily ever after the white man uses a black body as a commodity to jump through hoops, he can shoot like cops do at his pigment. And still have enough of a figment of imagination to sing and dance the night away until all the stars look white.
