Poetry by Bryant Isom

By Bryant Isom

Do not define me by what you see, or perceive to be an uneducated thug, Just because I have tattoos of pictures and words that you don’t understand.

Do not let my black skin and altered walk change the way you talk when I’m in your presence. My message is a beast – and you should be honored to hear this lesson.

Do not engage me with conversation on how an occupation would keep me motivated. I hate it when people somehow lump me into their situation, because they believe the way I’m living is basic.

Just don’t.

By Bryant Isom

As the branches rustle in the blowing winds – my hearing is vision enhanced – my hearing is lost.

Gifted with comprehension, so I comprehend: God’s fingers gliding across the universe, making sure I don’t forget – I’m not lost.

Smile. I know it’s been a while. But, as I stand here staring at these clouds, I’m not naïve to what I’m perceived to be and what this world knows of me:

“He was young, gifted, educated & black.”

Why not, “He was black, and young, and gifted, and educated,” in that order?

I know I can’t cross borders.

I was smart, and I was stupid: because I wasn’t smart enough to notice stupidity gets you sent to the penitentiary. So, here I stand as a young black man, wasting my talents (literature) on women who care more about why I don’t mention them and why I’m “liking” other “bitches”, and why my Facebook hasn’t got as many pictures of them as my daughter. WHAT THE?!

But that’s the world that they live in, and I’d give anything to live in it again.

But here I stand, watching the branches blow in the wind. Captivated.

By Bryant Isom

I speak with the voice of many whose blood covers the Constitution. This constitutes me to be a sovereign state. My religion awaits those with fair skin to backbend. Should I clap them? I’m not a terrorist, but my religion relates. My relations to those who use my nation to spread hate is like having a sister you can date. No relation at all. 

I fall when I see their “acts of kindness” to Allah. Hurt and pain. You’re insane to believe that your God would agree that is takes victims to get him to open up his home to you.

What are those to think when they see a man roaming a plane who makes his home close to Sierra Leone? Or the blacks of her iris because her eyes are all you can see.

Your hate isn’t directed at me, because I don’t dress in the stress. I’m not born from an Islamic state, and I don’t see the unity in communities that Islamics hate.

I almost never feel safe when I walk my streets at night. My head takes on the strength of an owl: it moves with sight.

Yet and still, I walk with my head up, because I know hate has no religion; and I know my religion brings out your hatred. In a way, I don’t blame you.

Just don’t misconstrue what you do. It’s not called an “act of kindness” when you find us alone and you throw stones because you believe protecting your home is your right –. ‘Cause it’s not right when you might believe that I’m out to achieve a terrorist act just because my backpack’s not close to me. 

What hope is to me, is that you see us ALL as God’s children; and in ALL MAS buildings, you are welcome. 

Help them if you see a child that don’t understand and who needs a hand because “some man with an accent” is saying “destroy yo’ land”.

Not all Muslims are a part of that plan, and I demand you educate them…

Because you’re the only one who can.