by Dean Atta
DEAN ATTA
I Am Nobody’s Nigger
Dean Atta is a writer and performance poet. He has been commissioned to write poems for the Damilola Taylor Trust, Keats House Museum, National Portrait Gallery, Tate Britain and Tate Modern. Dean won the 2012 London Poetry Award and was named as one of the most influential LGBT people by the Independent on Sunday Pink List 2012. He is an ambassador for the Spirit of London Awards for Achievement through the Arts. He lives in London.
www.deanatta.co.uk
@DeanAtta
Contents
Forty Things I Never Said
I Am Nobody’s Nigger
Young, Black and Gay
Revolution
Fatherless Nation
Therapy
Paper Cuts
I Am Red
New Year
Ascension
Freedom of Love
Mother Tongue
The Flamingo
Smash and Grab
Mr Invincible
Key to the City
Without You
Shadow Boxer
Ego Extensions
More Than This
Off the Wall
My Love
Rome is Eternal
How Did We
Matters of the Heart
Fragmented
Quit Me
Tunnel Vision
Enough
Ghostwriter
Missing Persons
Severance
Second Hand
Lost in Time
Poems
Forty Things I Never Said
Well done
I believe in you
I’m proud of you
You don’t know me as well as you think you do
Every missed opportunity burns me
I never loved you
You are wrong
I haven’t forgiven you
It was only sex
No strings attached
I think you should go now
When I left you that night, I cried
I care more about the things I have lost
When I told you I loved you, I lied
I think you’re stupid
I think we should use a condom
I think you should respect yourself more
I cheated on you, twice
Delete my number
Your broken heart is my greatest achievement
I pity you
Thank you
Goodbye
Don’t go
No
Come back
I’m sorry
Good luck
I’m afraid
I miss you
I need you
I didn’t mean it
I did it on purpose
When we got beaten up in Camden, I’ve never felt more alive
I always wished I grew up on an estate
I wish I were straight
I don’t like to read
I wish I was white
I think most poetry is shit
I always wanted to be an emcee.
I Am Nobody’s Nigger
Rappers, when you use the word ‘nigger’, remember
That’s one of the last words Stephen Lawrence heard
So don’t tell me it’s a reclaimed word
I am nobody’s nigger
So please, let my ancestors rest in peace
Not turn in their graves in Jamaican plantations
Or the watery graves of the slave trade
Thrown overboard into middle passage
Just for insurance claims
They were chained up on a boat
As many as they could manage and stay afloat
Stripped of dignity and all hope
Awaiting their masters and European names
But the sick and the injured were dead weight to toss
And Lloyd’s of London would cover that cost
I am nobody’s nigger
So you can tell Weezy and Drake
That they made a mistake
I am nobody’s nigger now
So you can tell Kanye and Jigga
I am not a nigger . . . in Paris
I’m not a nigger in London
I’m not a nigger in New York
I’m not a nigger in Kingston
I’m not a nigger in Accra
Or a nigger with attitude in Compton
Cos ‘I don’t wanna be called yo nigga’
How were you raised on Public Enemy
And still became your own worst enemy?
You killed hip-hop and resurrected headless zombies
That can’t think for themselves or see where they’re going
Or quench the blood lust because there’s no blood flowing
In their hearts, just in the streets
They don’t give a damn as long as they eating
Their hearts ain’t beating, they’re cold as ice (bling)
Cos they would put money over everything
Money over self-respect or self-esteem
Or empowering the youth to follow their dreams
Stacking paper cos it’s greater than love it seems
Call me ‘nigger’ cos you’re scared of what ‘brother’ means
To know that we share something unspeakable
To know that as high as we rise we are not seen as equal
To know that racism is institutional thinking
And that ‘nigger’ is the last word you heard before a lynching.
Young, Black and Gay
My people are many and few
Subdivisions of me and you
Substantial people sometimes called subhuman
Negroes, faggots and all the youts dem
Don’t think your rights came overnight
So many people had to fight
To gain anything like equality
We ain’t there yet but we’re gonna be
Institutions instigate internal indignation
We, brought up and betrayed by this nation
Isms and schisms of my Babylon home
Have held this king back from his throne
But you can fight the system from within
Yes you can befriend sinners and still not sin
See me, I went to university
Not even the first in my family
I’m from a long line of scholars
Trace me back to Greece and Africa
Through Cyprus and Jamaica
I don’t write to be pretentious
But my vocab and vision leave you defenceless
Trying hard to avoid the clichés
But everything worth saying’s been said these days
I’m ironic and yet I’m so on it
So if you wanna test me, let me hear your phonics
I’m not a battle emcee; I’m a community defender
Young, black and gay, you best remember.
Revolution
There is a revolution awaiting warriors
I recognise many righteous soldiers
I will fight with you or alone
Like the king I am reclaim my throne
Me nah wait for your recognition
Me jus fire upon you with verbal ammunition
Me, One, I speak for myself
And nobody else
Every one of you has a voice
To speak or not, it is your choice
But silence is not golden
Silence is the truth stolen
And stealing of the truth
Is exactly what dem do to the youts
Miseducation relative deprivation
Mislead young minds’ motivation
Dealers, hustlers living bullet time
The
ir lives could end in the space of a rhyme
They get all the attention
While the good them get no mention
Young boys growing up with no direction
No protection on his erection
Sowing his seeds
But not fulfilling their needs
Young girls left to raise children alone
No job and kicked out of home
On the benefit system
Where you fill in forms and no one listens
Please listen up when I speak
How many homeless you seen this week?
Begging for change
I said begging for change
Don’t just be a sympathiser
See through the mist, be a realiser
See what has been done
To brother, sister, daughter, son
The revolution a go come
The revolution begins with one
But one is much stronger
If he listens to those who’ve lived longer
Listen to the wisdom of the elders
Dem want fi tell you if you want to know
When’s the last time you saw your grandma or grandfather
It’s time to go
With an open mind and loving soul
As a community, as a whole
There’s so much to be told
You think dem lost it cos dem got old
No, dem just stopped sharing
Cos you done stopped caring
If you are now prepared to hear
Revolution may begin this year
Go forth with what you have been told
Tell young girl she’s worth more than gold
Tell young boy what a man’s about
The truth nah whisper, the truth does shout
We are the revolution
We are the solution
We hold the key
And it begins with you and me
We are the revolution
We are the solution
We hold the key
And it begins with unity.
Fatherless Nation
We’re living in a fatherless nation
Where dads up and leave without hesitation
The seeds are sown but the house ain’t a home
Because the kids are left feeling alone
He is the void in my heart
He is the reason I cry
He is the wellspring of my pain
I used to wish he would die
He is the one who cheated me
He is the one who refused me
He is the one who rejected me
How could he want to lose me?
He is always in my thoughts
I think he not who he should be
He is nothing to me
Yet without him I never would be
When faced with my eventual confrontation
He made his final declaration
Though I’d played out this scenario a million times before
I’m still left with this wound, scabbed over but still sore
See, I could not ask for any more of a conclusive response
I had hoped to hear ‘sorry’ but it was not uttered once
A cold and calculated ruthless reply
Is what I got after years of asking why
This call was inevitable he had time to prepare some lies
I’m glad he could not see the tears fall from my eyes
As telecommunicated words impaled me one by one
He can imagine he was talking to a mature, grown-up son
Breaking an abandoned boy who prayed he would come
Back to fulfil a vital role in this boy’s life and no longer run
Away from the most important job a man could ever boast
Does world no longer know what matters most?
To give life is natural; to take life is wrong
To nurture life that you create is what should be done
He does not believe in what people say he should be
He lives and dies by his mistakes except his biggest – me
It makes it worse when I’m told I’m just like he
In arrogance and creativity we have an affinity
Sharing something is better than having nothing at all
Still there are times when I wish he would visit or call
Watching the door ’til he comes home
Waiting for he to call me on the phone
Anticipating he will rescue me from feeling alone
Watching he leave me for the last time
Waiting for he like in a dole-cheque line
Anticipating approval from he will be mine
Watching the space where he never stood
It’s like waiting for bad to convert to good
Anticipating that he one day could
Come back, though I doubt he ever should
The absence of he caused me so much pain
I could not bear to share his surname
I refuse to be the legacy of he
I’m what I managed to be, in spite of he
There are others like he and others like me
So let’s not allow a looping history
Fathers, be there for your creations
Help rebuild the fatherless nations.
Therapy
This is not supposed to be therapy
I go to therapy on Wednesdays
Being on stage is my getaway
Or hitting the dancefloor on a Saturday
I try to stay home on Sundays
Cos if I’m lucky my mum makes Sunday lunch
Roast chicken and potatoes, rice and peas
‘And, Mummy? Don’t forget the plantain!’
Yes, I know, she spoils me
I’m supposed to be happy
Because most would be if they were this lucky
I’m supposed to be the one ‘living his dreams’
The one that they envy and aspire be like
I’m supposed to inspire but I cry out
I’m supposed to give hope but I’m so full of doubt
I’m supposed to know exactly what I’m doing
And precisely where I’m going
Because I am a leader . . . right?
I’m supposed to have the answer
Or at least ask the right questions
I’m supposed to be cruising in the fast lane
But I feel so pedestrian
He gave me this notebook to write in
I’m not supposed to tell anyone
But fuck what I’m supposed to do
I’ve always done what I’m supposed to
I was supposed to get my GCSEs, A Levels and a degree
Check one, check two and, yes, check three
A whole bunch of Bs and Cs and a 2:1 in my degree
English and Philosophy
What else was I equipped to be but some kind of writer
Well I’m pretty good with kids, I coulda been a teacher
But even my favourite at school, Mr Rattigan, told me
‘Never . . .! Ever . . .! Become a teacher. You can do more.’
My granddad always asks me
‘When are you gonna go back to your studies?’
He tells our family back in Cyprus that I’m a professor
Dr Dean Atta
But I’m far from a doctor
My only PhD a Player Hating Degree
But I don’t stay put long enough for you to hate on me
Supposedly
I’m a poet slash playwright slash producer
Slash artistic associate slash creative director
Slash confused dot com
Online searching for my ID
On Facebook faking familiarity
Retweeting at you hashtag complete me
BBM me, B-befriend me
This iPhone is not my phone it’s a loan of identity
See, I can be whatever and whoever I want to be
With the rig
ht accessory, by any app necessary
I’m supposed to be grateful for all this freedom
Free to grab opportunities when I see them
Because some let things pass them by
Fixated on money
Trapped by responsibility
Or bound by their apathy
‘Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond imagination.’
I believed that first time I heard it and I
Still do
But am I supposed to be afraid?
Cos I’m not
I don’t need words from page to reach out and hug me
Comfort me or tell me that they love me
I just need them to tell the truth
Cos I’m supposed to be here
And I’m supposed to do this
And, no, this isn’t therapy
But it sure feels good to me
To be sharing this, with you.
Paper Cuts
I write for forgiveness
Forgiveness of my apathy
I write for understanding
Understanding of myself
I write about me, mostly
Mostly I write for nothing
But sometimes I write for money
I write for recognition
My poetry is a protest
Just because I don’t march
Doesn’t mean I don’t care
I can write in solidarity
I don’t have to be there, on the street
When a million men march on a beat
I stand a capella, on my own two feet
I can speak against injustice
From a stage or on the page
I’m a poet not a politician
But I canvas for your vote
With these words I wrote
My ballot box is my bank account
Your voting slips are in your wallet
I write to leave a legacy but I am no myth
And I rarely write with any idea in mind
Of how my words will change the world
But I like to think they will
The pen is mightier than
Any paper it writes upon
I could literally rewrite history
But you can’t prove a thing
With a page left blank
Are these words worth more on the page?
Yes, if no one is listening
If a writer writes alone who hears her pen?
Just her, but all could read her story
If she shouts out alone who hears her then?
Just her, but at least she feels better
But if no one knows her story
Who could say she was alive?
When you die, do you know what will survive?
Do you trust and treasure your memories most?
