Poem for George, and the new slavery, COVID-19. I can’t breathe
Let me died before I am killed.
Sixty years still a political, economic and cultural slave, I saw George, he is my despair.
Victims to a virus that may kill me, victim to a racism, it will kill me.
I petition for human and racial equality, it condemned me, a schizophrenic, a dyslexic, a nigger.
A lockdown, personifies slavery, social distance, white racism avoided I imprison myself.
Misdiagnosed by a white Eurocentric science, I am ‘watermelon’, I am ‘picaninny’.
Beaten by the knee, the feet, the medication, of the white man, I AM DREPATOMANIA.
I hear voices of my self-destruction, diabetes, high blood level, body functions in decline.
I seek a public enquiry, black men murdered, imprisoned illegally in cells of mental health.
A memorial to Bennett, Riggs, Lewis, to those who suffer similar fate, Malcolm and Martin,
A white privilege, exchanged for humanity, renders an illusion of a psychosis I see.
African women watch, their pain obsolete, the African family, broken, mystified as uncivil.
I am eugenic, I am subhuman, I am MBE, member of black exclusion, my anger, my counsel.
A survivor of racialised exclusion in the research of one’s own pain, white science the expert.
Relegated to a position of selling the pain of your misdiagnosis to white researcher as capital.
A call for a lived experience of being black, denied in a biomedical containment of my anger.
Edward Colston, psychiatry that is the modern slavery that kills me without remorse.
I cannot breathe unless racism is treated as a mental illness that kills our Community.
It is the Covid-19 virus of white supremacy that will kill my soul and my spirit.
Watch the film – Being sectioned
Live me die, before I am killed