Black Men Cry Too.

They say men don’t cry.
I guess men are only programmed to express anger and happiness.
Any sign of tears is a sign of weakness.
Men can not be weak, we are not allowed to express upset.
The man that cry has a cancerous cell,
a malfunction in the system
because,
real men don’t cry.

Restricted by society, silenced by ideology. Tears prevented by fear of being arrested.
We don’t dare try test society by speaking up;
giving them the opportunity to mark us down. The congregation of voices between my ears debating whether “maybe this time will be different” but the opposition always ambush my thoughts.

Persuaded to express but then manipulated to feel what we don’t because,
we can’t decide for ourself.
Weakness reversed till our lights are out.
Tears put on hold till we have to wear all black - the colour of pain.
I declare the colour be liberated today.
In the intangible, the air and the echos.

We are like grapes turned raisin;
born copious and filled with juice but we’ve been knelt on.
To dry up, wrinkled and drained.
But we must turn our crushing to empowerment.
Wine is only produce through crushing.
The darker the pain the sweeter the juice.

No longer of solid individuals but liquified and united in our pain.
Like water, when alone one is anemic but,
en masses we are powerful beyond measure.
Destructive when there’s no structure but constructive we can electrify the world!

Call the electrician,
Let’s turn our lights on.
Call the plumber,
Let’s release the drain.
Because,
Black men cry too.

Written Piece by                                                                                                                        Josa Osa-Oni.