September 15th, 2025
by Nikkiema S. Harris
I don't remember crying that night,
When my fists were bloody,
The walls were echoing,
My head was bruised–
Had I not called on Jesus,
Laughter would've taken over,
The ambulance would've climbed up to my room,
I lived on the fifth floor,
Yet I was named after something that no one ever knew.
I don't remember crying that night,
When the ink from the pen never dried out,
When it was easy to remember every name in the phone book,
When the streets were lively, and all I ever saw was melanin with a hint of gold–
Had my mother not fallen to her knees and cried out,
I could've been the next victim,
Who would've known?
"History doesn't repeat itself,"
Yet court cases that happened over fifty years ago are relevant to this day,
Like when they mocked Dr. King for being naïve,
A never-ending court case,
Like Breonna Taylor, who was shot in her home,
Five bullets later,
And still to this day,
Her story lives on.
Why does the innocent perish?
Is it because God makes no mistakes?
Or maybe if we weren't labeled every time we stepped foot outside our homes,
We would be okay.
I don't remember crying that night,
"Back in the day,
Black excellence wasn't a thing,"
Yet our white counterparts love to carry on the tradition,
A painful sound that still rings,
"You wouldn't be where you are today if it weren't for us,"
But God doesn't bless mess,
So, where exactly did my help come from?
I don't remember crying that night,
Like, whenever I would ask a question and the teacher would throw a book at me,
Hence why these children today don't know anything,
Because teaching isnit teach-ing.
Don't even bother giving me an award because of how excellent I am,
But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and maybe,
You'll understand,
Every word I've ever written was followed by a tear,
Obedience is the devil's weakness,
Hence, why Black excellence remains crystal clear.
About the Poet
Nikkiemi S. Harris resides in Zion, Illinois, United States.
Read the poet's biography and Wax Poetry and Art publications
on Nikkiemi S. Harris's Artist Page.
This poem is included in Poetry World #13,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Chicago Poetry Magazine:
The P in PTSD Stands for
by Ron Riekki
Chicago Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
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- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
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