By T. A. Johnson
Understanding the complexity of being Black in America—
Is hard for most White People to see, but it’s hard for
Anyone to see when they close their eyes to generational harm,
That’s done to Black People like me.
Like so many years before, monkey see monkey do. They’ll copy
But don’t wanna live near you, they’ll sing your songs and
Dance your moves, but fight tooth and nail to shield their
Children from the truth of racism that exists, They Say Shush,
We don’t talk about that. Like it’s a secret their Forefathers enslaved,
Raped and Killed People for money and sport.
It pains me to think and often times makes my heart sink, When I
Watch or hear a White artist I enjoy, or White community leaders
I admire, but my belly feels that fire, because I must ask myself,
Is this person on the Right Side of White. It’s so sad to think of that,
But unfortunately it’s a fact,
Other than generally, I rarely interact with White People I don’t know,
I hold back until I know, what side of White they tend to flow,
White People are like jelly beans, you never know what you’re
Going to get. I stay away from the ones that believe, Equality is an
Ideal and not a right, proven by their actions of, siding with whatever
Is White as opposed to what’s Right.
Time has proven these actions true,
I often wonder what this America could be, if we started anew,
More White people actively standing up and calling out those on the
Wrong side of White, could America enter a new stage of Light,
Of Right, of not judging people on Sight. Oh to dream the dream of MLK,
And not just in an Ideal Way, good life can abound, with more smiles
And less frowns, for all the world to see, what America could truly be,
If only we had more White People on, The Right Side of White…
T. A. Johnson has always referred to himself as a Scribbler, a scribble here, a scribble there kinda guy, nothing too fancy, just what he calls ‘Matter of fact Poetry’ and stories that tickle his fancy. He values his family over all, and is a man who has lost a child that opened an unhealable wound and has colored his work for many years. T. A. Johnson likes to say, ‘I’m just an ordinary guy, spinning an ordinary yarn.’ He writes from Long Beach, California.