this is…

this is…

a poem
this is not

this is
organized confusion
with random spurts of clarity

this is
polished prose
with a rhythm of its own

i can’t be an activist
not really
they assure me
because i
have never held a picket sign
never marched with the masses
never went from door to door
knocking
armed with
a clipboard of facts

i have never
made a bomb
sat in
took over
defaced the symbols
of hypocrisy

armchair activist
bedside scholar
a watered-down version
sort of a
militant-lite

because i use words
to fight my battles
and use the internet
as the soapbox
on which i stand

i’m a celebrity
in the local library
going sometimes
twice a week
9 books checked out
another 10 on hold
half fiction
part biography
with a smattering of social commentary
got told by sistah
“oh you must be educated”
is that anything like
saying
“you read! congratulations!”

somehow
i am not amused
i feel sad
when people mistake
mao for sun tzu
and lumumba for biko

“we were kings and queens!”
but most of us were peasants
burning in the reign

see?
now i’m lost
got sidetracked
and took a wrong turn
was this supposed to be angry
or just a run off
of my thoughts?

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