As a child, a refugee child,
My Mama taught me Caution.
Run from the marauders of the streets,
Especially those carrying guns
Beyond their natural height.
Run from machete wielding persona.
Run from The Toothless Angered,
They’re mastered by the powers du jour.
Run for dear life.
If speed is of essence,
Drop your school books upon the dusty path,
Make it home,
To your Mama’s anxious arms.
Pray you do,
And live another hour
As a child, an American child,
The ghosts of yonder history hovered.
Waiting their turn to fully manifest,
My Mama taught me,
Before I was double digits,
To be cautious out there.
The marauders, the ghosts, the egregious,
The Toothless Angered
Will menace my being.
Don’t run for dear life.
Learn to stay still
There is nowhere to run.
Nowhere to stay still,
Except in shocked death.
No school books dropped on a dusty road,
They lay stained in unrequited blood along the school hallway.
Bullet strewn sidewalks splatter my paths.
The Toothless Angered
Are again mastered,
The daily Puppets of Avarice
Sanctuary is a scarcity in my universe
While The Toothless Angered,
With ample, unjustified impunity,
Continue to menace my being.
Pray I make it home Today, and all Tomorrows,
To my Mama’s anxious arms,
So I can hug her.
And just once, of many more, say
I love you Always
Shortly before the 2004 Illinois Democratic primary for the U.S. Senate, which he was to win by a landslide, Barack Obama was riding high. After about a year of nonstop campaigning, the Illinois state senator had raised far more money than any of his rivals, and his path both to the nomination and to the floor of the U.S. Senate seemed assured. But his closest advisers sensed that the 42-year-old candidate and father of two — 5-year-old Malia and 2-year-old Sasha — was feeling a bit down and listless. As Valerie Jarrett later told biographer Richard Wolfe, she suggested that the candidate meet her for lunch at Chicago’s posh gym, the East Bank Club.
“What’s wrong?” Obama asked “the principal,” as he referred to his chief aide. Jarrett replied, “Your heart isn’t in it. What’s wrong with you?” “I miss my girls,” Obama said as tears welled up. “I don’t want to be the kind of father I had.” But after composing himself, he added, “I’ll work it out. I’ll be okay.” This hands-on dad, who helped coach Sasha’s grammar school basketball team, puts a high premium on both connecting with and providing direction to his girls. At 6:30, Obama and his wife sit down with the girls for a family dinner without any outsiders. The evening meal, observed Obama’s former body-man Reggie Love, was treated “like a meeting in the Situation Room. There’s a hard stop before that dinner.” While aides sometimes call him back to work at 8:30 or 9, they rarely dare to go upstairs to bother him during the sacred dinner hour.
I really believe that Bernie Sanders doesn’t care about the black vote in that he wants the black vote, but if he doesn’t get it he’s okay with that. I think that Sanders mentally is stuck back in the 60’s when it comes to the way he views African Americans. I think that Sanders admired the young black fire brands of the 60’s, I think that it instilled in him the way that he thinks African Americans should act. But Bernie’s problem is that he got left behind, those young black fire brands of the 60’s are now doctors and lawyers and teachers that now believe that to make a social change you must work within the system and not look for ways to blow up the system. I bet if you could read Bernie’s mind it would say “why aren’t these blacks out there raising hell and trying to blow up the system.” But what Bernie doesn’t understand is that in fact we are out there blowing up the system, we’re just doing it by becoming the first African American Attorney General, the first Latino Supreme Court Justice. That is how we blow up the system. You blow up the system by displaying a picture of a little black boy touching the hair of the first African American President in the Oval Office. That one picture alone is more powerful than anything Bernie Sanders has said since he decided to run for President.
Sanders told a mostly white crowd that they're "too smart" not to vote for him on the same night he lost a heavily black state by 48 points.
The idea that what black people want from a president, is welfare. As though we are not lawyers, doctors, activists, educators, scientists, astronauts, and leaders in our communities. No, what we want is welfare. There are not enough f**ks yous in the world to the Bernie campaign