this is a 2 year old poem and it’s still important to this day
Fast
I never get told
I was fast
At least I don’t think so…
I was told
I was fresh…
Been told to stop being so fresh…
Young….
Didn’t know any better…
A stern voice was like,
“You’re fresh, stop it”
I did stop….
But never told I was fast….
Other black girls get told
They were fast by aunts grandmas
Mamas….even black boys get told
They were fast…
Not only for misbehaviors
But black children get molested
By ugly grown ups and they tell someone
But someone shut them up…
To be quiet
Only to protect the ugly grown ups…
And they say
Black girls are fast
Black boys are fast
Someone said children are too fresh
Tellin them to sit their tails down
Cos nobody wants to hear that a black child
Was violated by a family member by someone’s partner
Or a friend or next door neighbor…
It’s a sad situation…
I’ve never been in that position…
I don’t wanna be there as a kid
No wonder that anger and bitterness
Grows beyond the golden years
Cos it hurts their bones
Scars on their small souls for a lifetime….
And I know damage hearts can heal
Choosin to forgive
However
Trauma is a shadow that never leaves
Their side…
I have observed..
I have listened…
I’m not a psychiatrist…
I’m just learnin out thinkin about the word
Fast…like
You’re fast
She’s too fast
Slow down
Stop being fresh
When a child did nothin wrong
I wonder,
Is too fast came from slavery?
When rape was happenin?
When it was after rape?
When shame came into a big picture?
Being fast could be past tense colonization…
Look at black communities
Many black families has that one monster
They will forever protect
Some will fuck them up
And I still think the word fast is a generational curse
After the pain enters you…after it happens
After you told someone who you suppose to protect you from
Then that someone like your grandma or your mom or even your brother
Says you’re being fast, you’re too fresh
Be quiet
Don’t tell anyone
Don’t call the cops
And it continues….
You see
Nobody loves that child
They don’t love themselves…
It’s fucked up….
You should tell someone
Even if you care for them
But you should keep sayin
I’ve been touched
By so and so….
Cos that when the encouragement and bravery comes in…
You find someone who you actually trust and care
Even been in your shoes before
Tell someone…
Black family who protects creepy monsters as an equal
Is actually a broken home….
I can see the fast
Might be from slavery
In a massa’s household
Where a slave child has touched by
A master and being told that
You’re fast over and over and over
Constantly…by a mistress
By a master who sexually assaults
You many times before…
Who knows….
It’s possible that the word fast is ptsd…
And you can say
Fast is traumatizin
Even fresh can trigger the veins
Of inner child in you…
It’s difficult to be pure
And childhoods have been snatched
Away…
And the saddest part is black children
Don’t know what fast means…
What do you mean by being fresh?
They’re innocent..they don’t know…
In these kind of circumstances
Nobody told them about
These monsters…
And
It’s sad..
💯✊🏿💔©️ Kai C. 10-11-23
