I bought a drum

I bought a drum. Because before I picked up a pen and pulled words from within, I was black. Because before my father became a legend in the logistics of computer language he was black. Because before my grandfather laid concrete, he was black and back in a land where kings roamed freely a boy whose skin resembled mine went in search of the tangible tools to make one when his eyes spotted an unfamiliar face. While stripping one of heritage, hair, language, last name, Allah, Allegiance and Home was a successful day's work for some, we remained chained, caged and chattel. I bought a drum because my addiction to snares and 808s doesn't come from the modern day radio. My affinity for dancing doesn't come from watching imitators steal and reinvent it to fit mainstream. My dreams of sun and freedom doesn't stem from being a Florida native. I bought a drum because the professor who was teaching me the meaning of the Yoruba language and Adinkra symbolism and why I should tattoo "young king" on my chest  died before I could kneel and thank her for removing the veil from my eyes. I bought a drum so I can start a new legacy connected to my last name instead of passing down vulgar words and disrespect for black women and how to swag out till you pass out to my sun....I can take him on my knee and tell him why I wanted to name him Zion. So I can teach him the meaning behind the red black and green that I painted on his bedroom walls. So I can bravely brace my daughters for the world that will size them up by the posts that they put on social media before opening their mouth. I bought a drum because I haven't found a book bold enough to admit that stealing an entire race of people from their home and killing them off slowly over the span of 500 moons is more sadistic than the devil himself. I bought a drum because for once I wanted to spend money in my own community for a cause deeper than appearance. I bought a drum because of the first word beside every description of my skin on every application for a dead end job I've filled out since I was eighteen. I bought a drum so that after I take off my suit and tie from the day at the office in the only black owned business in downtown Nashville I can proudly say I have not forgotten where my roots are even if my dreads are gone. I bought a drum because kunta couldn't make it home that day. I bought a drum because the warrior in me is not dead. They can not kill what they did not build.