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Speak Truth to Power

By Jewell Prim

Speak truth to power
To the things that you seek
Freedom
Will not be handed to us
By our oppressor
Especially, if we are meek

Speak truth to power
To the things that you see and hear
Injustice
That purposefully runs
Through our community
Has no place in
The veins of our street

And I know that it is hard.
I too feel the pain,
That we all breathe
Growing up numb
Taught to be undyingly strong
Fervently brave
Face things that we can’t even
Bear to say

But what they don’t tell
You in any classroom
Is the power of the youngest soul
Hidden information
Nutrients that would make
The revolution grow.
That would remove our oppressor
From the centerfold

Did you hear?
About the action that broke
A chain of tears
Led by the children of Birmingham
in May of 1963?
They organized themselves
Took guidance from their leaders
And peacefully descended in protest
into the streets of their very own city

The government sent in their pigs
Squealing in delight
As they arrested little black bodies
Only armed with their power
And their might for demanding what is right.

As young as seven
And as old as the youth grow
They stood up to the system
Those men in the big houses
That feast on the strife of all our kinfolk.

The pigs sprayed those bright black children
With water from the fire hose
And in response they danced
And they sing song sang
Lyrics of unity and love and life,
Knowing that their undying joy
Would be the greatest ammo
To defeat the piercing knife

It was ingrained in the false power’s minds.
They were so sure,
That no child had the grit
To deliver the blow that they deserved

Imagine the view
Of thousands of young people
Flowing into the city in waves
Of devotion to their freedom
Steadfast in their decision
That their people would live
To breathe the freedom that we all must ring
To smile another day.

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Dirt

By Jewell Prim

This dirt is rancid with tears
It stinks
Flowers were never meant to bloom here.
These lives were forced to give too much here.
Give up the right to a beautiful home,
One that is perfect for casting roots,
One that would let them
Plant seeds
And watch those little children go,
Watch them grow,

Run!
In this DIRT,
This dirt is sticking
In a way that’s different,
But recognize that it is the same in many, many places.
This dirt leaves the cancer in you.
You’re tracking around medical bills you can’t afford,
And smelling the taste of the death
That is dwelling over you,
You,
And your neighbor’s heads.

Why
Didn’t they tell you this was BAD dirt?
Why didn’t they tell us?
That this foundation
Was built to harvest thorns,
And not daisies.
That the happy home
You were promised
Would cost you the life that you have every right to?

Why aren’t you listening?
Why aren’t they listening?
Cant you see it?
LOOK
Look
This dirt…

Maybe this death is in a language
You’ve never heard.
I guess this would never
Be the insidious dirt
You were given to make a house a home.
Your dirt would never be my dirt.
Ain’t that something?
huh

Is it weird to say that all dirt
Should be equal?
That everyone deserves to live,
In a place where the land they stay on WONT
Kill them?
That just as you are important,
I too,
We too,
THEY too are equally important?
Is that a foreign language
Too?

What does it mean
When your government kills you,
With deathly dirt?
Do they not care?
Who do they care about more?
Why, maybe they’re mistaken!
Once again,
They think,
That this dark and deadly dirt
Is supposed to be matched,
With our dark and beautiful skin?

My ancestors didn’t die,
In this VERY LAND,
By the hands of slave masters
For my people,
To die today,
By the hands of this poisoned dirt.