Whatta Man: A Poem on being a Man

Whatta Man

2 x 11 x 20


I’mma be honest with ya 

Most men of color talk big and bad

Cuz they fear the white man

They build their muscles thick and heavy 

Wear vines shiny and bright 

buy big ol’ houses

Buss-down Rollie’s 

I mean the finest of delights 


They do all this 

To make a point

Not to their own selves 

But to old Mr. white 

You see that fear dug in deep 

So so so deep 

That now you define yourself 

by everything He seeks 


You were told to break down them doors

To work twice as hard and get in them places 

Sit at those tables 

And smile in they faces 

But now that you in 

Bought hook, line, and sinker 

Sold your body and soul 

Now you get to thinkin’


No matter how much money 

Nor how much shine

To them you still a “shine”

And that’s enough to draw the line 

Now you look behind

In your wake

Dead bodies

Pain and hate 

Cuz you did what they do 

And destroyed to be great 


I wonder when you’ll see


Ol’ Macon Dead

I wonder when I’ll see? 

You’ve never left the plantation 

Only become an overseer to the beast. 

Savaging and Ravaging

That pain from centuries

Seeps in deep

Only way out is healing what’s inside me


What we need 

Is not white men 

In shades of black, brown, yellow, and red 

Bruh… Ol’ Macon dead!

What we need are those who have visions and strength

To call out the rage

To crawl out the cage

And say no more today!



Don’t need that big ol’ house

Don’t need them shoes, cars

None of that expensive trash

You need your people 

And your people need you

Healing, Building, Feeling

Now that


is a man.