HOT LIKE

KUFIKIRI HIARI IMARA

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Hot like Black breasts feeding White babies

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Hot like Haitian Summer’s when backs refused to bend anymore

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Hot like the bullet from a cop’s gun in the cold body of a Black child

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Hot like the anger of parents burying their child

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Hot like the breath of angry dogs on taught leashes

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Hot like the crowded prison cells

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Hot like the flames of a burning cross

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Hot like rope burn on the neck of a swinging body

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Hot like human cargo ships with water all around but not a drop to drink

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Hot like Black southern churches set ablaze

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Hot like the flesh split open from the whip

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Hot like emasculated manhood when the mother of your children is carrying the masta’s baby

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Hot like congested urban living designed with no way out alive 

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Hot like the sweat on your brow when you’re working sun up to sun down

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Hot like the feeling in your gut when your starving children look to you for something to eat

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Hot like necks in church trying to get saved on Sunday after sinning on Saturday

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Hot like a year of letting the bus pass you by as you walk everywhere

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Hot like blood running down your face when you don’t walk fast enough

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Hot like diner counters when staying seated is taking a stand

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Hot like the hot comb and the chemicals used to look the part

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Hot like a people when their leaders are murdered

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Hot like a city when justice is bought and sold 

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Hot like venomous words spit on you for being the first

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Hot like the souls of feet that  marched for miles

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Hot like the spotlight of the world’s eyes upon you

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Hot like horns blowing songs about truths that can’t be spoken

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Hot like the back door when you can’t walk in the front

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Hot like kitchens when hands preparing the food only get  scraps

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Hot like the revolutions that almost change the world

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