Black Boy

MUIR

I’m nothing more than a black boy.

This term, only so few others currently hold to joy.

A black boy originally from the projects.

Tompkins Projects, precisely, but now I’m like its reject.

A black boy– from the projects, trying to enter this world and make it.

Said I’ve explored it– but this world is nothing more than a large pit.

I’ve seen nothing, as I’ve seen coming back home.

Roam these streets between my old project and Interfaith’s dome.

It is underneath the roaring LIRR tracks,

and next to a promising school full of blacks.

Firstly, I acknowledge Bed—Stuy—

I haven’t called you before, and I know why.

Shunned, I started there, and here– home, I’m without fear.

But no fear can repay for the crimes done dear.

Not physical crimes–

remember when I asked you to spare that dime? Ah, my black brothers–

and still to each we are bothers.

I’m nothing more than a talented, project-born, black boy.

Understand, we are either for coy, sexual toys, or we can enter the void. It’s choices.

I’m once conditioned,

i fight whatever ‘repression’,

and “shantay” I stay,  

in and out of depression.

And like others, I’ve been and I’ve lied too–

but in this world– ive learned there’s no place or time for the old gospels, blues or doo whoop.

And for once, Brooklyn—to all my brothers and sisters—

Brooklyn, I hear and see and feel you.

Alexsandr Muir