My country tis of thee
Sweet land of liberty
For thee i sing
Land where the slaves all died
Hung on trees like christmas lights
On every mountain side
it's rope around my neck
let it ask me my name
only to forget-
just like all the other kids
living life in black flesh
Freedom is both the man of my dreams
and a man i've never met
i heard he's supposed to live around here
but i ain't seen him yet
i call Freedom drunk at 3am
but he does not call back
i've heard legends of black kids
that tried to trace Freedom’s tracks
but bullets bust them in the head
and they never came back
Have you ever seen Freedom? Is he white or is he black?
i’m just waiting to meet him
so I can finally ask
if he's seen the bodies in the street
how he feels about that
because the only thing worse
than being born Woman
is being born Black
and i’ve never seen Freedom at a cookout––
Freedom don't rock a fade
I’m starting to think that Freedom might not be as great as they say.
but i still haven't seen freedom. i don't think he's showing up.
he's a buster. a coward. the rain above my head. and yet he'd rather pay for war than give me or my brothers a warm bed. or schoolbooks with pages that don't rip at the end.
Freedom takes a piss in your mother’s bathroom and leaves the toilet seat up.
Freedom will steal the food right out of your mouth
and then call you selfish when you stop inviting him over for dinner
and yet still expects me to listen
to smile in submission
i would shine his shoes a million times
just to get the chance to spit on them.