- Our “Black Job” is Voting -
they say our job is to pick and grin,
to bend our backs and not break,
to dance for scraps in a land that robs our tongues.
we learned to vote with our feet,
marching across bridges, our bodies a ballot box,
our voices, ancestral, ringing through billy clubs.
you, rogue president, an echo of old ghosts,
your tweets are cross-burnings in digital disguise,
your policies, chains draped in red, white, and lies.
we’ve met your kind before,
in the cotton fields, in the courthouse,
in the schoolyards where our children
learn to dodge bullets and distrust smiles.
we are the echoes of slaves who learned to read,
the whispers of ancestors who spoke freedom
into the wind, their breath a weapon
against the silence you impose.
our job is to vote, not because you said so,
but because we are the children of kings and queens,
our blood a river that cannot be dammed,
our hearts a drumbeat that cannot be silenced.
we’ve seen your face in every dark corner,
every law that paints us as the villain,
but we are the heroes of our own story,
writing our destiny in ballots and blood.
you, rogue president, are but a shadow,
a flicker in the light of our resilience,
a reminder that our fight is not in vain,
that our voices, our votes, are the true power
in a world that tries to silence us.
our black job is to vote, to rise, to stand,
to turn your walls into bridges,
your hate into our strength,
your lies into the truth of our existence.
we vote not for your approval,
but for our survival, our dignity,
our right to exist, to thrive,
to turn this country into a place
where our children can breathe free.
we vote because we remember,
because we know the cost of silence,
because our ancestors whisper in our ears,
their voices a constant reminder:
you cannot stop us,
you cannot break us,
you cannot silence the power of our vote.
©️MustafaSantiagoAli #Poetry #BlackJobs #Trump #Biden #Vote #Democracy #EconomicJustice
they say our job is to pick and grin,
to bend our backs and not break,
to dance for scraps in a land that robs our tongues.
we learned to vote with our feet,
marching across bridges, our bodies a ballot box,
our voices, ancestral, ringing through billy clubs.
you, rogue president, an echo of old ghosts,
your tweets are cross-burnings in digital disguise,
your policies, chains draped in red, white, and lies.
we’ve met your kind before,
in the cotton fields, in the courthouse,
in the schoolyards where our children
learn to dodge bullets and distrust smiles.
we are the echoes of slaves who learned to read,
the whispers of ancestors who spoke freedom
into the wind, their breath a weapon
against the silence you impose.
our job is to vote, not because you said so,
but because we are the children of kings and queens,
our blood a river that cannot be dammed,
our hearts a drumbeat that cannot be silenced.
we’ve seen your face in every dark corner,
every law that paints us as the villain,
but we are the heroes of our own story,
writing our destiny in ballots and blood.
you, rogue president, are but a shadow,
a flicker in the light of our resilience,
a reminder that our fight is not in vain,
that our voices, our votes, are the true power
in a world that tries to silence us.
our black job is to vote, to rise, to stand,
to turn your walls into bridges,
your hate into our strength,
your lies into the truth of our existence.
we vote not for your approval,
but for our survival, our dignity,
our right to exist, to thrive,
to turn this country into a place
where our children can breathe free.
we vote because we remember,
because we know the cost of silence,
because our ancestors whisper in our ears,
their voices a constant reminder:
you cannot stop us,
you cannot break us,
you cannot silence the power of our vote.
©️MustafaSantiagoAli #Poetry #BlackJobs #Trump #Biden #Vote #Democracy #EconomicJustice
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