End of the Cycle
by Deyquan Bellamy
If you saw me beside my “colored” brethren and he held a gun to my head while my hands were empty and raised what would you do?
It seems that you’re still hellbent on the slaughter of my people and those who support us
All those faceless faces focused on the sounds of sonic booms and crippling body in the center of the street
The attempt to colonize a race by molding them into what you want them to be, meticulous and subtle in which you erase the the roots of such people
Judge me not for the complexion of my skin, but the wisdom that I bestow upon you, the elegance in which my words flow, the impact that my presence has on society, most of all judge me as an equal to you
As I rise from the grave you’ll see generations of oppression, debilitating sadness, sorrow, and the bloodthirsty taste for vengeance within my dilated eyes
The spirits of my enslaved forefathers burn passionately through my mind and body, some beckon me to crush the lot of you with the speed of lightning and the power of a dormant super-volcano awakening from its comatose state
Others speak in a more soft soothing tone, they tell me to forgive you and teach you the error of your ways whilst preparing to reform my generation and the ones after
Deyquan Bellamy is a 19 year old African-American writer from Brooklyn, New York. You can find him on instagram. Illustration by Francine.