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VOX Teen Poetry: “Bloodshot Red Third Eye of an Angry Black Boy”

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Black boy don’t frown
Black boy hold your head down
Black boy don’t cry
Black boy don’t try
Black boy fit the mold
Black boy work till you die put your dreams on hold
Black boy slow up
Black boy grow up
Black boy show no emotion
Black boy suffers from implosion 
Black boy don’t feel
Black boy you’re not real
Black boy is just angry
No black boy feels every eye on him looking for his every weakness and deficiency
But he can spot a lame with bad aim because he married the game and he know there’s plenty of sirens in the sea
Every eye staring into his third eye waiting to catch it slipping 
Waiting to catch his black paint chipping
So they can bring their plan to destroy him into action
But he amputated his Achilles heel, and it didn’t face putrefaction
Black boy is just angry
No black boy is tired of seeing third eyes on dolls and action figures, you puppets, you fake woke jokes you folks are hoax, you think it’s a game 
The third world “developed” a third eye but American Negroes masquerade as heroes, and paint one on for fame 
Black boy is just angry
No black boy wishes he could literally rewrite history 
Because he’s not quite into the genre of alternative non-fiction fake news and fake mystery
And maybe his book would be a best seller
The perfect world written by the unfortunate fortune teller
Because he wonders how long the copyright would last after he’s gone
Like it was printed with ink resembling crayon
Because even if he could rewrite history they’d still probably find a way to Donald Trump his Obama 
Whiteout the newly drawn peace signs and replace them with commas
Black boy is heartbroken that he couldn’t be there to save all the black queens from being dragged from their thrones and degraded 
Black boy is annoyed by the thoughts he knows are rolling through some people’s heads saying what about queens of other races, as I say this familiar statement, faces and gazes look so jaded
Black boy is tired of explaining why 
Black women rise above all the pain like yeast used to make rye
Black boy is reminded everyday why he has to place emphasis on black queen because she’s constantly had to make a crown out of dirt while she watched other girls get handed crowns embroidered with gold from that very dirt she dug herself
PoetryLike Santa taking credit for the work done by an elf
Black boy don’t cry, no he just let’s it poison his blood stream 
Then as his baby is in the murky waters of the womb it just becomes a runoff theme 
Black boy is black and blue, turning his blood purple the color of royalty
Black boy always dabbed in hot water, 12 can’t get him to boil tea
Black boy trying to find the point at the end of a blunt 
Black boy popping xannys, percocets, mollys and it’s no publicity stunt 
Black boy leans on lean with ice because he feels on fire and it’s a cold front
But it starts twisters
Black boy says it’s the last time, knock on wood, then catches infectious blisters
Black boy seems uneasy, don’t ask black boy if he’s OK, there’s nothing you can do to help him
His sorrows deeper than the ocean but you know black people can’t swim
Black boy is rambling, black boy needs to stay focused 
Black boy praying for greener grass on the other side like a locust
Black boy having panic attacks 
Black boy is a freak with a mark on him he’s a silver back
Black boy tired of being called boy he’s a man
Black boy is a celebrity but he’s still the color of shit he’s bound to hit a fan
Black boy is sorry for all the black boys before him and today who suffered from social anxiety, overthinking every interaction he ever had
Black boy always labeled an ADHD undergrad
Black boy is uncertain why he’s so uncertain
Two states of mind divided by an iron curtain
Black boy pissed, single mother, father talk pro black but didn’t take care of black family
Your family was a precious pertinent pearl that you held onto clammily
Thought he beat the statistic by “being around”
Black boy is confused because the potted plant does not grow when the bucket of water stays next to it, on the ground
No matter how many times the gardener “intended” on watering it
The glo up you’ll never be apart is going to be lit
Black boy in suburbs, dinner is French cuisine just because it’s Thursday
Black boy mother MK full of ice like a purse sleigh
Black boy safe and sound has no right to speak about  black issues, he doesn’t struggle enough to validate his opinion 
Like a superhero ignoring a minion 
Black privilege doesn’t exist we all know they still pull your card even if you have a black card or are a million shades lighter than one
They took everything from Grandpa so he could only pass down his skin color to his granddaughter and grandson
Black boy is not antisocial he’s careful
Demons smile angels frown he’s prayerful 
Black boy is confused, he treated her like chocolate and she melted away in his hands
He thought the bands would show her she was the best brand
Black boy noose around neck, hanging from a cirrus cloud 
Dangling over his shroud
Black boy likens that cloud to white racism and how they say it doesn’t exist anymore
It’s clearly still there just translucent their judgement is poor
Black boy asks you to think, whether the noose is tied around a tree or the cloud aren’t the circumstances still the same 
Hung from a cloud falling down to his peril 
Hung from a branch the story’s headline is A New Fashion Trend Poplar Apparel
Lightweight hate leads to a long fall to fate at a terrifying pace
Whereas up in your face, gives you time to digest your food for thought over which you painstakingly said your grace
Black boy hate to rain on your parade while you’re freezing to death nose all runny
Black boys are either dying or trying to get money
Black boys and girls getting shot like hunting season, but when they report the mass extinction they claim it was only the Easter bunny
Black boy laugh more don’t you think it’s funny
Black boy wrap yourself in warmth when it ain’t even sunny 
Black boy never got a chance to be a kid when he was of age
He overlapped his anger with wisdom like mixing salt with sage
Black boys’ parents do the work of a billionaire but systematic and selective deflation makes his vault look like minimum wage
Black boy they gonna judge your book by it’s cover but that’s why it’s a bestseller that earned you that Nobel Peace Prize
They want black boy to cook dope so he cooks with three eyes 
He gets smarter with time his intelligence is clockwise
This is not a black boy rant this is not about black boy anger 
Black boy aired out his blood-stained dirty laundry, without bleach, a clothes line, dryer, or hanger
VOX alum Caliph Riley III, 18, a freshman at Howard University, has just published his debut collection of poetry, “Tongue The Trigga.” It’s now available via Amazon.

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comments (1)

  1. Dr. Linda L. Itoka

    What a precious find! This is truly phenomenal! My spirit was deeply moved. I truly feel this poem was written at a time such as this! Bravo Brother Caliph.