Coffee Bean

1600’s -2020’s

White people say they want their lovers, Like their coffee, black

But can’t handle the roast

that comes with that.

The roast they caused, the

Fire ignited underneath my ass,

Like jumping fragrant beans,

I evade their grasp (on my culture)

Vapid as the burlap bags

They used to contain us:

Forever succulent

and radiant as we

Remain stead-fast,

in an attempt to outlast

pockets stuffed at the seam,

As they invade and

pillage our countries,

For our coffee bean,

Just to dilute us

With milk that is steamed.

From Oats and Goats,

And Soybeans,

Never our true hue

Can be seen,

As anything other than

Obscene.

Anything to mask

Anything to wean

Off how much they truly

Adore our bean, our

Culture, our genes,

Enough to make babies

That match Americanos

With cream.

They could never handle the rush,

of heart that we are esteemed.

Because at our core,

In the face of authenticity

They blush.

And in all of our being,

the perfect decoction

And expression of

X’s and O’s that we bring

Washes into seas of foam,

Swirls of cream, and eddies of mass

Industrialization and capitalism,

Just to contain a simple brown bean,

Originally so sacred and divine,

Reduced to a provocation to work,

And uphold a personal of being energized,

Despite ability and individuality

Constantly siphoned by society

At a large,

Until there is nothing left that

no amount of oat milk, cream,

Or steam

Can rectify or redeem.