This poem was originally published by MANO
By B., courtesy of Souletri
Where do I go when I’m put in a position to fail or die young
My skin tone is a predisposition because it ain’t the white one
I’m fighting on the side of history I know is the right one
The plight of my people is downright disrespectful
The people meant to protect us have been outright neglectful
Puerto Ricans constantly treated as second-rate citizens
With the lack of aid we receive, it’s easy to see we’re not at all legitimate
To the Orange monster
That’s burned the island more than the sun
Barely recovered from one disaster, now struggling to fight another one
The Degreciado in Chief believes we only just take
He seems to have forgotten, we’re apart of the States
But I suppose that’s why we’re only deemed as a territory
They come to the island for heavenly getaways, while we’re here stuck in purgatory
Back on the State soil, we ain’t treated no better
Still scrambling for sustenance like mice after cheddar
The pandemic came over, beginning a new depression
And made another virus more evident
Systemic oppression
How do big corporations get billion-dollar bailouts
While we struggle to make $1200 stretch for several months and not have our coffins nailed down
The poor and downtrodden might as well have our graves plotted
We’ve got people in the projects, lying dead till their flesh rotted
NYC housing deaths outnumber the rest of the city
To them it’s a way to get rid of us quickly
It’s almost how there’s still no clean water in Flint
They have no regard for black or brown lives, they simply don’t give a shit
For years now we’ve been screaming “Black Lives Matter!”
Cause the system is built to watch our bones crack and blood spatter
Even amidst a pandemic
Rounds of bullets piercing our chests
They still got their knee on our necks
For no goddamn reason, but us taking a knee is somehow disrespect?
Protests demanding change lead to further arrests?
People of color are problematic when the real problem ain’t been addressed?
Eric Garner couldn’t breathe at the hand of the police, and six years later we have to fight for Floyd too, over the same damn thing?
Same words, same struggle, same menacing huddle
Of pigs covered in the filth of racism, it’s not subtle
As if we don’t have enough problems stemming from the root of the country that are only getting bigger
We got several Latinos on the sideline saying this isn’t their fight, when in the white man’s eyes, we’re just a different flavored nigga
It’s hard for us to strive when everywhere we turn
They want to take away our drive and watch us crash and burn
The chains have us broken, bound and dying slow
But if we’re meant for more than this
Then tell me:
Where do we go?
***
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