An SRA building it is.
My home, a vertical slum,
as you refer it often,
in your books and the class,
a spoken word like this one,
a spoken word like this one,
and an eloquent TED talk.
You, the researcher, the poet
my teacher in the hood,
a corporator from here
or a business tycoon,
the narrator of my stories,
the one who refuses to live in
or is too afraid of my home.
Oh you, my saviour,
the advocate for equity,
reforms and success in my life
oh you, who at the same time
dismisses me and my life.
In your curated
and photoshopped
view of my life
you see the violence,
the guns and the fear,
anger at the loss
of someone very dear,
rape, abuse and drugs.
Or go to other side,
patronise me for my grit,
my suffering and my life.
My laughter, my joy
my vocab or my dance,
is invisible to y'all,
or exotic, to be only used
for your brochures.
But tell me,
have you ever felt
that anxiety
which results,
from the gunshot
that rang past
an apartment window?
Do you know what it feels
to inhibit these spaces
that transcend geography
and move around in our bodies
wrapped in the shroud of emotions
whose fibre are my varied
daily experiences?
If you haven't,
then pause your pen,
or keyboard, I assume?
Before you can teach,
or write about me,
or make another policy
that will change my life,
as you claim, know that
our spaces are psychic.
And you are colonising both,
my space. and my psyche.
Gotta back off, y'all!
- Based on a text from For White Folks Who Teach in the Hood... and the Rest of Y'all Too: Reality Pedagogy and Urban Education
- Based on a text from For White Folks Who Teach in the Hood... and the Rest of Y'all Too: Reality Pedagogy and Urban Education