I hate the sight of blood
The sanguine drops of opaque crimson scarlet
Drops that course their way through the barrier of the skin
That trail that binds to that specific shade of red
I hated the way that it meant I was punctured
Flesh purged by the light of day
The way that it exposed what lies beneath the surface
Maybe not exposed but revealed,
Maybe it opens
Or maybe it is exposed
But definitely wounded
I hated the sight of blood
The red color
Skin exposed
revealing what lies beneath
Under the surface
It should stay below the surface
Because when I see the sight of my blood
My stomach drops
I blame it on my anemia
Because it’s not my fault my ancestors
couldn’t get their bodies to make that shade of red on the inside
because they were forced to show it on the out
I know I inherited it from my ancestors
My ancestors who were tired
and my ancestors who were weak
As they were depleted of the second most traded commodity after oil
They lacked iron
My ancestors were told they lacked iron
Their bodies lacked iron
The commodity that depleted their basic human rights
The way that they didn’t have enough money to invest in the iron
I know my ancestors had the wound of sacrifice
a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding
I am a product of my ancestors
Their origins cascading down my arms
Red
Tracing
I search for the origin of my name
All I find are stories ending in bloodshed
Most people go through life with blood stored inside them
Mine escaped,
leaving me a trail of tears to trace
Even if I never find origins,
My body speaks ancestral languages
My body speaks in blood loss and blood inherited
My body is bounded by the west to the Red Sea
Cultivated by the coastal plain
to the highest terraces of steep mountains
My blood flows through the Rich green valleys
threaded by streams of sparkling water
Where the Golden sand seeps through the crevasse of the feet with each step taken
My blood speaks resistance
as the people’s screams of solidarity echo into the ears of their brothers and sisters who are facing oppression
My blood is in the streets demanding Justice
My blood is in the streets demanding Justice
My blood is more than just what courses through my veins.
It’s a testimony to my existence
My body speaks in blood loss
My body speaks in bloodshed
My body speaks in blood-inherited
My body speaks in blood loss bloodshed and blood inherited
But I hate the sight of my blood
Bc If the white man knew what secrets my blood holds
he will try to take that away from me
My blood is present on the lands of my people and the hands of the white man
My blood is present on my land
I bathed in this land
I was born in this land
I gave birth to this land
You can take my blood
but
I’ll
never
let you
take my soul
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