Now, Do You Believe Me?

You blamed me for your husband’s nightly raids, disguised as visits.

You did not believe I’d done nothing to tempt brutal assault by

depraved masters, deranged by their uncontrolled sexual appetite, but

too afraid to demand satisfaction from you, protected by your rigid religion.

I had no protectors—human or spiritual.

Nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

My midnight hue betrayed me

My tongue twisted to conform

to guttural speech, gave me away.

We were property; me, de jure; you, de facto

As a Christian lady sitting on your throne of acquiescence,

you kept your foot on my back, bent from the weight of

your hate, and your husband’s lust.

Centuries of deliberate denial robbed you of discernment

You refused to see the possibility of white skin losing its importance

if your woman’s voice shouted for equality.

Your granddaughters have appropriated the “Me, Too” movement,

conveniently failing to honor silenced Black female voices putting

their bodies at risk to challenge your fathers, sons, brothers, uncles, husbands

who openly practice male entitlement, privilege and supremacy.

In their upbringing, were they taught how to attract and keep successful men?

Did they learn to agree that boys will be boys, to be forgiven of their youthful indiscretions?

Girls who engaged in similar games, risked ridicule in the school yearbook.

Where do you draw the line? When do

you ignore the demands of spoiled scions?

All of whom are in your circle of powerful, incestuous white entitlement.

Your female descendants are now reaping the whirlwind of a belief in property over people.

Their sexual assault experiences are rendered harmless. Their truths are labelled false.

They are hysterical, unbalanced, unbelievable.

Now, do you believe me?