Harlem Bomb Shelter

I know where we’re going, because I know
where we’ve been Yet I can’t shake this feeling
that the world can turn on a whim
The more I learn the more I’m burdened
Is it grim to say I’m uncertain whether this life is worth it? I’m sure it is But not every person bears the curse of their gifts
Are we cursed by circumstance where generations teach trauma I find we all have
the answers But few choose stairs to go find ‘em More drama Ancestors in hand
with God prepare us Where do we find ‘em?
Inside our love not just the feelings that we find fun.

If I stood in front of you, as you were watching what would become of this generation
You might ask, “Is your father a glassmaker?”
I’d say, Actually, He made mirrors so I never forget what I look like and what others see
He knew, after a certain time, it was more likely to see a son set on the evening news than on the horizon So he kept me inside
Which is why he polished his broken pieces
to reinforce me to reflect light I don’t know if that answered your question But no, I won’t sit down

Recipes lost, Role models of generations
past, long gone. We must rewrite the
rules of activism. Times have changed
New wars require new weapons
21st-century technology now, our weapon of destruction. Our elders watch in distaste
As we trailblaze on our own. We are nitpicked
Chastised, Rebuked. And still, we rise
Us young folk. Left with retellings of stories from the past. We can only do so much with reiteration. The journey is ours to take

They say The arc of history bends toward justice
They do not say Its curve is hidden in our spine We wake to Angry aches
Moonlight guiding us toward grout towers, grumbling
Dig.
Scuff souls on cement
Etch black fist into white plaster like a dead-end destiny, don’t apply to you
I’m afraid it applies to us.
Chipping at freedom’s walls They did not tell us how thick their hatred grew I’m afraid there is nothing good waiting for us to arrive.

I never understood why I’d have to eat even after I’m full —
— finish my meal Our elders thought they were teaching us an impactful lesson.
But why does this lesson seem trivial as an adult? I’ve learned how to eat
or rather be consumed by all this chaos
happening around me.
Elders, I’ve tried to listen and swallow up the genocides, mass murders, and white supremacist — but now there’s this
lump in my throat. I feel like I have no tools to
navigate this world– Because all I can remember is you telling me to eat even after I’m full.

My parents didn’t teach me how to show up and serve Confront and challenge
They taught me about a pension
They taught me to work work work
My family is divided like Africans and African-Americans
Jesus taught me love and unity What the masters continue to abuse
Where is this “Great” America? No eye has seen of it Ears haven’t heard of it
Just another propaganda turned mantra
Pride comes before demolition Politicians play God But they be Baal And I will not dance for change to hail Where is this “Great” America?
Teach me