I know you, Black-Boy,
corn-rolled, 'froed or skinhead.
I know you when I spot you,
some thing to distract you,
draw you from your insides
where ghosts stir pinwheels of questions.
You wonder if we notice,
catch the girl eking from you,
see you as cotton candy.

I know you, Black-Boy,
when Fear, 'neath dungeon stairwells,
chains and strangles your spirit,
binding you to turmoil.
You'd cry a storm with thunder
if Empathy would hug you.
Then, Springtime would be words, affirming,
and sunshine, a beam from your mouth.

I know you, Black-Boy,
in your cautious steps toward homeland,
to the door of Truth cracked open,
setting your questions free.