photo essay: my man's face

I remember when I was young and cops used to let me hold their gun

in elementary

that was before I started to look like my father

and then I remember how the nappy hair got too kinky when I got older

i knew exactly when the wind changed

i was fourteen years old and asked an older white woman for the time

she ran to her car and locked the doors

i just thought she was  just weird

i didn't understand

a baby panther is cute, a full grown male panther has to be caged

why does the fear start?

I remember when I was pretty, because I was 18 and masculine

I remember when I thought I was special because somebody said I was attractive

but youth was credit and I still got bills

and I thought because my stomach was flat I would be saved

learning to swim is not about body weight

my face is getting older

my soul is getting clearer

my father was a murderer

and I’m a pacifist, cant stand violence

he beat my mother often and I hated to hear her scream

I wanted to rescue her but I couldn’t understand why she would love hate

my father had lots of enemies, the most notorious drug dealer

they shot him in the back of his head and dragged his body through

Mexico

I remember his eyes

he would tell me that I would grow up to look just like him

everybody told me I was his spitting image

I hated my father

he died when I was five years old

but I knew I hated him

he would hit me in the back of my head and tell me I was a faggot

that I wasn’t man enough

and then he could be so kind, like holding me when I fell asleep and putting me in bed

he would tell me that I needed to be strong

I got my father’s face

I thought I always looked like my mother

maybe I wanted to look like my mother

she was a crack whore, so I don’t know why that would be better

but I guess I didn’t want to look like my father

I was afraid of being a black male

I was afraid of that dark skinned African face

I was afraid that white

America

would distrust me

so I wear my glasses at interviews to appear my Cosby show

I’m afraid when I walk down the street the cops watch me

I couldn’t get in a club once because the guy said I had attitude on my face

but that’s white

America

I must be the enemy

how they said the slaves didn’t have souls

but maybe I’m afraid that people will think I don’t have a soul

that I’m just the channel five news

my father was a murderer

he beat my mother often and I hated to hear her scream

and I got his eyes

I got the eyes of the ghetto

people don’t realized how black men are preyed upon in this country

we are suppose to be the villains

when in reality we are the victims

this is my man’s face

this is my father’s face

I don’t mean to scare you

I’m just protecting myself

but it’s a beautiful face

and I hope one day my son don’t hate his face

it’s a beautiful face