TRAITS OF A SLAVE MASTER
	My people love my Art, but will not buy, My people love my Poetry, but it puts tears in their eyes. When I speak of how they have been hung from trees I feel the earth shake as my words buckle their knees When I paint a picture of Emmit Till as he was killed for white folk...and a cheap thrill... My poetry is toxin... Did you know after all the murders and hangs, the Klu Klux Klan banging's...those people celebrated by having babies...Yea after the bonfire...they would go screw, she would tell Big Daddy, he sure knows how to handle them Black SOB'S... It is funny how White folk love my stuff, but Black folk think I'm being too rough. I write with PASSION, WRITE with seriousness, write with the tears rolling, write with the dust blowing, write looking at the sky, look to the heavens and let the stars fall in my eyes. This effort which I undertake in publishing  all my works, is done with a seriousness in mind, to communicate to you a desperate need to be heard. Our tribe is one that is submitting to all manners of obscurity of its being, we should not let that happen. Our history is our wealth, our wealth is being buried in a diluted and fallacious attempt of decorated inclusion in this society. We should never let that happen! We have taken a confusing request, made by us of equality, and turned it into a strange journey of negritude, and a bourgeois classicism. *Remember the slave does take on the traits of the slave master.
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