{"id":3791,"date":"2019-09-07T18:27:42","date_gmt":"2019-09-07T18:27:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mtls.wpcenter.io\/issue25\/?p=3791"},"modified":"2026-10-14T16:03:47","modified_gmt":"2026-10-14T16:03:47","slug":"seria-s-cash","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/seria-s-cash\/","title":{"rendered":"Seria S Cash"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

 <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Independence for Sale <\/h3>\n\n\n\n
    \n
  1. I didn’t know that my kind were cannibals: They’ll peel the skin off each other with their teeth, rip limbs apart with their hands, eat them, then serve it to their children.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  2. I didn’t know that women were flowers and men-gardeners: My father told me, \u201choney, that’s the way it’s supposed to be\u201d. But all I ever see, is men taking their sons into gardens to plough the ground and destroy them.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  3. I didn’t know that my eyes were broken: My kind don\u2019t look like me no more, and I feel like I’m the only one who sees the color Black. Am I? A lot of my sisters and brothers prefer to see the color White.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  4. I didn’t know criminals dressed up as policemen: I saw one rob a man who looked like him, but spoke a different language. We\u2019re afraid, so tell me, who are we supposed to go to for help?<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  5. I didn’t know polygamy was my country\u2019s \u201csweetheart\u201d: I don’t want God to punish me for not having a sweet heart.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  6. I didn’t know that this rock is still a slave to the hands who throw money at it: Thank you sir, are you enjoying your stay mam? Will that be all?<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  7. I didn’t know that a leader became a mother during election: Now, he has to take care of his home and his children-who, will put him to death without trial, when water begins to drip from roof tops.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  8. \u00a0I didn\u2019t know my island was a prostitute: While her voyeur children watch, moguls spread her legs open and plant seeds of capitalism inside of her.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  9. I didn\u2019t know what it meant to be Bahamian: The colors Gold, Black, and Aquamarine have been washed dry into Red, White and Blue.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  10. I didn\u2019t know my society was segregated: Why does the West bleed money and power when the East bleeds blood and poverty? I rarely see a white man or woman, but when I do, I always wonder if they breathe the same air that I do. \u00a0<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  11. I didn\u2019t know that pullin, pushin, and poverty was the holy trinity of my country: Sometimes, God don\u2019t exist here.\u00a0<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  12. \u00a0I didn\u2019t know the older generation depended so much on the younger generation: I\u2019m sorry, there hasn\u2019t been any sign of a black Moses who will lead us to freedom again.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  13. I didn’t know that you\u2019d be interested: The government said people 17 and under have no sense, no voice, but at 16 are able to give consent, when that makes no sense.\u00a0<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  14. I didn’t know I lived in a jungle.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  15. I thought my home was supposed to be paradise.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  16. I thought I was supposed to have a better life.<\/li>\n\n\n\n
  17. I thought I was free.<\/li>\n<\/ol>\n\n\n\n

    At least now
    \nI know how much my independence is worth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Lay Me Naked <\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

    Lay me naked
    \nNail my hands and feet down
    \nLike Christ on the cross
    \nStretch my broken bruised body out
    \nAnd crucify me<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Tightly grip my head back with your hands
    \nAnd crack into my skull
    \nYou\u2019ll find repressed memories
    \nOf childhood times
    \nRuptured thoughts, dreams, hopes
    \nAnd baneful secrets that burgeoned from hell to heaven
    \nInto poisoned trees of guilt and crimes<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Split my sternum
    \nYou\u2019ll peer through a forlorn heart
    \nOn one side
    \nyou\u2019ll meet the woman that tore it down
    \nMy mother
    \nAnd on the other
    \nThe only men that tried rebuilding it
    \nAs if it were their own hearts being ambushed by their wives
    \nMy brother and father<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Lying shallowly
    \nIn my lungs
    \nYou\u2019ll feel
    \nVacant voids of air that once dropped and rose like the bounce of freshly pressed hair<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Inside my liver you\u2019ll find swarms of
    \nToxins and tears at war
    \nItching red
    \nThen smoldering blue<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    In my stomach
    \nAn empty and lonely house
    \nThat\u2019s still pending to become a home for my unborn children<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    Because
    \nWhen you grip my 16-year-old waist
    \nBeneath my bladder
    \nYou\u2019ll see the un-plucked flower of my\u2026 \u2026
    \n                                                                               Virginity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

     Dark Shades of Blue <\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

    I waltz with fear
    \nOn pianos of black and white keys
    \nWhere truth comes from the staccato of my heart and feet<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    In this place 
    \nTears are their own masters
    \nAnd my black face 
    \nTheir Canvas<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    In this place
    \nJoy seldomly visits 
    \nUpon each return 
    \nIt becomes a foreigner in its own home<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    In this place
    \nFaith is like the wavering flame on a candlestick<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    In this place
    \nWAR becomes RAW 
    \nAnd 
    \nTime from its past still moves<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    In this blue house
    \nScars burn forever<\/p>\n\n\n\n

    In this blue house
    \nThe sky never existed 
    \nUp above were only men and women
    \nMolding me from \u2026 \u2026 \u2026 
    \n                                                Dark Shades of Blue<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

      Independence for Sale  At least now I know how much my independence is worth. Lay Me Naked Lay me naked Nail my hands and feet down Like Christ on the cross Stretch my broken bruised body out And crucify me Tightly grip my head back with your hands And crack into my skull You\u2019ll […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3791","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3791","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3791"}],"version-history":[{"count":14,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3791\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5008,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3791\/revisions\/5008"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3791"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3791"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3791"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}