My soul will not be broken/seeds of a dream.

My soul will not be broken/seeds of a dream.

Cracked and broken,

Dreams scattered by the waves

Sun-baked, soaked in rain.

But my soul cannot be broken

Steadfast in prayers, I will not waive

Unaffected by the elements, my spirit reign.

I will push on, fighting to remain sane.

In a world where the outcome of my life,

Is someone’s favorite game.

For I am as coarse and stubborn as my hair.

Bold and beautiful is my skin.

And in my veins run the dreams of men who only dreamt of freedom.

My soul will not be broken.

It is a seed of a dream.

A dream of freedom.

A dream of equality.

A dream of love.

Adrian Inniss, 2015

Being Black on Friday – Adrian Inniss

Being Black on Friday – Adrian Inniss

Brine yes, the taste of salt still linger,

Even after I cough and spit

Pulsing, pounding, raging thunder,

Feeling much like my head, would split.

My arms, I can move

But, I cannot feel my fingers

Broken ribs, gun butt, pistol whipped and blisters

And in my leg, I feel a splinter

Dragged and thrown like already dead

Open pick up. Steel toed boot.

To stomach, to chest and to head

Kicked into eyes, swollen and blood shot.

Agonizing! That is an understatement,

For this unfortunate predicament,

A conflate of mud, tears and salty Blood

Behind the pain I cry, I brood.

I am, as I am demure.

And all this for what you say,

In my Demesne, arrested and beleaguered

Just for “Being Black” on Friday

Adrian Inniss