Bookshelves

Looking around at the shelves that bear my ethnicity's name and it's a crying laughing hatred that envelops my frame everytime I pass by I want to burn the entire section down look at us being treated like clowns like this is the new Black Sambo this is the new Blackface and it passes thru my soul with passionate hate I cannot just walk by and not feel it all over my body all over my soul and it has me growing cold when I see breasts almost bared look at her face and I see my mama's there I see exploitation with zero taste but they acclaim these writers as great what have they broken down but inhibitions of people looking in the eyes of the great evil I feel no greatness within the pages the only things there invite my rages the fire takes the greatest stage Nothing that will awaken a mind and if it is there it's only a footnote amongst a lazy body of work and it screams loud and clear what they think we are worth I've grown tired of walking by and seeing 2 books I'd want my mama to see this lack of intellectual maturity is killing me and you wonder why our kids get passed by? look at the books they glorify how can a mind grow confined? how can a tree grow with no room for roots to expand? how does a boy become a man when grown boys are given reasons to flourish how then do you expect a culture to be nourished when men are declined opportunity to shine how can you see truth when you are kept blind? I wish to burn the book shelves down because every time I turn around it gets worse and what's heard is Blacks aren't capable of intellect just a bunch of sex