Good Evening Everybody.
How you all doin'?
If you haven't heard, my name is Isaiah King.
I'm a Woodrow Wilson Senior graduate. Class of 2017.
I've been with Fly By Light for two years now and um...
What I could say is that... I'm a bit of loss of words right now.
There's some amazing people and they definitely cultivated my strengths in writing and filmmaking.
and they've shown me that you know those are things to lift up and bring up in somebody.
And all I've had is good vibes
from them so, um, with that said, um...
I recently um.. oh oh okay so.  Recently I
participated in the Louder Than a Bomb
DMV regional poetry slam. Um, my group
took first place and tonight I will be reciting two poems
and the second one
that I have is a personal poem that I wrote
but I'm going to start off with a
poem that was written by
one of the youngest members on our team this year.
His name is Kumari, great kid
and it was worked and edited by our own laureate, Kenny Carroll.
so, um, this is the poem "Stop Following Me" and I hope you enjoy it...
I walk in through the door. My bookbag,
heavy, knocking stuff on the floor.
I pick it up, I put it back.
I'm being followed.
By this guy.  He doesn't have a badge but
he has a disposition and I have the
wrong pigment. And he thinks this change
in my pocket doesn't add up enough to be
here. And when I say here I mean
wherever I cast shadows bigger than the man he might be.
I ask have you seen me before?
With a ten dollar bill in my hand I go
get a drink. I hear footsteps.
I turn around and ask, "can you stop following me through the store?"
I get it! I look suspicious!
but some things you can't take off when
you walk in!
Namely whatever flesh your mama gave you baptized in blood.
I learned early, my place in this world,
through the eyes of others,
how every glance is stolen
when guilt is all your people have to
their names.
Can you stop following me through the store!
Can you stop following me! Period!  No, I don't need any help.
Stop following me.  I don't need your eyes burning a bullet hole in my back. Stop following me
I don't want to roll around in the back of a squad car. Stop following me.
I don't need any help.  Stop following me!
I don't want to be face down on the sidewalk.
I don't have anything that isn't mine.
I don't know what you want me to say.
That I'm sorry for being black?
and a student?
And in your store to buy food?  And alive?
Ever since I've been in here...
there's been a worker on my heels but I haven't tried to steal.
And they think I want to buy something there?
I'll take my money
elsewhere.
good so the next poem I will be reading
for you guys is a poem
hold on having a little technical issues
I like green I'm
a fan of green um yeah
thank you um
so the second poem I'll be
doing is a poem
it's a one-minute poem
it's a short poem that I wrote um
I would say that I'm inspired by the message in it
it's really close to me
and um it's called um Garden Rose
Silky velvet bow
bathed in sunlight
dashed with fiery, scarlet glow
how could one impose
roots dove in earthy soil
a pedestal
stark, stronger than the thickest of bark
stand tall
a brazen few will challenge your throne
but stand strong
a chosen few will come to rout your successes
yet stand firm
so that others will learn echoes of your glory
striving to reach so high,
they fall so low.
so, um, there's other people to see tonight
my time is short but I will be
reading one more poem for you
this was another poem that was written
by Kenny Carroll
and this was a poem
about umm, what you owe to your country
this was a poem we did actually use in the poetry slam
L tab and it was a four person group piece
so I will be reading that
Ask not what your country can do for
you if it has never done anything for you
if your country is a row of jagged
teeth,
do not expect its mouth to open without tearing at your flesh
if your country is a set of bronze knuckles,
do not expect a helping hand
if your country has its hands around your throat
do not expect it to save
you a voice
if your country has chewed on your heritage,
spat on your inheritance,
and threatens to carry your body
is the same red wood your ancestors decorated with tangled songs
do not offer your tied wrists and a bouquet of fingers
do not offer your blood for their machines or mouths
do not offer any part of you
do not listen when your country tells you of how your life is not your life
how your body is not your body
you have done enough for your country
it's time
for your country to do for you.
thank you
thank you
