Take a read to commemorate the end of Black History Month.
Empire eyes me,
sizes my self-worth up, cuts me down to fit into the mold.
I do as I am told.
Empire doesn’t shout,
whispers sweetly; seduces.
I think the idea is mine,
so I make the choice you want me to.
demands; refuses my right to say no.
I parrot your yes back to you:
voice a blurry high.
stares hard, sands my edges.
No longer unique.
A stringed version of myself.
Rebel — get smacked down, but
Empire stands taller,
supported by forces dark
that bare an uncanny mirror of myself.
Empire strikes back,
and doesn’t explicitly say join or die,
but the haunting shrilling silence
of its troops reveal
the dark side of the force.
Gravity Stephens is a Jamaican born spoken word artist who sees the world in sentences and punctuation that are just…
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