Daughter of The Stars

How many times should I comply with the charade?

Walk to the front. “Raise your right hand. Do you swear to tell the truth?”

All the while wondering, but politely nodding,

“DO YOU SWEAR TO TELL THE TRUTH???”

And even so, I calmly state for the record, “Yes sir.”

Yet in my mind I hear “Yessa Massa.”

And I hesitate to write that even now because here in the Valley you can not speak what “they” do not approve.

Well I don’t co-sign for liars these days and my credit ain’t that good anyway.

I don’t even know what’s right or wrong by their standards, because no matter what I do they disapprove.

So is it really what I say?

Or is it just the thought of my existence that is their bane.

15, 18, 21, 32, 34, 36, 37, 38….

Still counting off the years I’ve been bound here.

Bound to lies. Bound to liars. Bound to someone else’s desires. Bound to finding out soon that sometimes the heavens actually do rain down fire.

If I represent conscious and the secrets of men who would kill to have them kept, then why is that I should not fly far away! Why is it that anyone would want me chained to this place?

I’m severing ties. Stepping away from lies. Still rising up against all odds. Oh my! Oh my!

And so who is left? And how now should I find a way out of this mess. There is no one left. Circular homicide is not coincidence. Dot to dot is a game I once played but I’ve since outgrown it.

“I have a court order!”

“Oh sorry, we do not care about that. We only write them up and serve them on you. Of course you can understand that.”

Crack! Crack! - I swear I just heard the sound of a whip at my back.

“But I’m not a slave. I am not a slave.”

I find myself screaming as they turn and laugh.

Generational trauma on ancestral leaves.

“Give me Liberty or give me death.”

And they look at me pitifully, pridefully and swear that I’m free.

But this doesn’t look like freedom. No not at all!

Birthright robbed since the days of Jacob and Esau.

No! Give me Liberty or I’ll give YOU death. I do not like violence but my tongue is a sword.

I’m not crazy as they indicated. I’m angry. I’m hurting. I’m grieving. Crisis units are no help when they contrive the crisis. If they can’t see that by now they don’t wish to. SYSTEMATIC FALLOUT.

Scars on ebony. And somewhere I hear a dove crying out where he is perched upon the branches of a cherry tree.

No excuse for WILLful ignorance anymore. I want to go home but it’s a cry inside of me and the voice of my family. It is long forgotten census records forged and changed. A fraudulent man’s arbitration.

A covered wagon on fire.

“HOME,” was the cry of our Ancestors so I trace my fingers longingly, ethereally, across the ink black sky.

“Follow the Northern Star,” my heart whispers. 🌟

I bow my head to pray and my tears fall from their skies.

“I am the RAINES.”

I am Daughter of the Stars.

~ReiGns 🌬👑