"Ode To A Brutha"

This is for my Bruthas.
My light skinned Bruthas.
My dark to midnight skinned Bruthas,
And all those in between of course.
What I mean of course,
Is not only complexion.
I’m just reflecting
On the magnificence of a Black man.

So this is my ode to a Brutha.
None other than a Black man.

There’s nothing like a Black man
And every aspect that he fits in,
Whether he’s my brother, my lover or my friend.

He’s not always positive in what he does.
But he believes strongly in what he loves.
Whether it’s the love for the game,
Gang-bangin’ or slangin’,
Religion, or education,
Or lack thereof.

This is for the man who wears Black like a glove,
With Africa around his neck.
And golden tips on his dreads.
The one who raises his right fist in the air,
Like this in the air, ((Raising Fist))
To let you know he’s proud to be black.
With a head wrap,
Wrapped in the colors of the African Flag.

For the one whose failed countless times.
And may fail again before he gets it right.
But he gets it.
Right?
Even if he doesn’t get it.
He’ll persevere.
Sure his life consists of blood, sweat and tears.
But he goes nonstop,
Until he bleeds his makings,
And sweats away all the ways he’s been hurt.
Then he’ll cry out victory,
And take it for everything that it’s worth.

This is for the God fearing man,
With a bible in his right hand.
He’s a “in church every Sunday, and praying every night” man.
The one who used to love God,
Then lost his way up until he lived everyday in sin,
But became born again.
Not that hypocritical church man,
But he’s a down right Christian.
Speaking with conviction,
Not following the “In” crowd
Because “His” ((God)) Crowd is the only one he fits in.

This is for my poetic Bruthas.
The ones that feel like the world weighs on their shoulders.
And the only way to release that pain,
Is to overcompensate
With a major vocabulary.
The Bruthas that emphasize their feelings and fantasize about things they’ve never had.
The ones that make America look stupid for the things it lacks.
The Bruthas that can talk a girl out her panties,
But choose not to,
Cuz it worthless.
They spit for a bigger purpose.

This is for my emotional Bruthas.
I’m talking about real lovers.
The ones who wanna take time
For everything your ex couldn’t make right.
As they wipe those tears from your eyes.
Betta yet,
The ones that cry because you cry,
And they hate to see you hurt.
And even if it hurts them,
They’ll make it work.
They’re more concerned with making you happy.
More concerned with loving you back to yourself.
The Bruthas that refuse to lose you to anyone else.

So this is for my Bruthas.
My light skinned Bruthas.
My dark to midnight skinned Bruthas,
And all those in between of course.
What I mean of course,
Is not only complexion.
I’m just reflecting
On the magnificence of a Black man.

There’s something ‘bout a Black man.
That does me in
Time and time again.

That Brutha within.
With that light, brown, or dark, skin.
Stand tall for this is your moment.
Your moment to know your true beauty,
And how it moves me.
It behooves me to express my admiration.

So be happy in who you are.
No matter what kind of “who” you are.
Someone out there loves you.