Small box

On tv a black  man was shot an killed by police
The cop was charged
The parties involved were satisfied.
Tears were shed,
Father’s with slew sons comforted one another
White people acknowledged their privilege
The only thing missing was reality.
In my life
When it comes to race relations usually I’m on the ground
Kneeling hands behind my head
Fingers laced,
Sitting on the curb.
Usually being stopped by a outside force
Believing himself to be beyond the law
Not understanding the balance
His badge doesn’t give him authority
But his gun
His brothers in blue
They’re the animals that can’t be tamed
Hunting people like me
Wrong or right
They are hunting us tonight.

On tv we get shot
Our father’s guard us against
The elements
Have to live
With our death.

Our lives apparently
Have no value
Black man in America must be a endangered species
Hunted like the Buffalo
Our killers are never/rarely brought to justice.

No justice for us
Unless we force it
Thank you sondra for putting my reality on network tv.
Justice for us

This entry was posted in poetry, rant, revolution, Snapshot and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Small box

  1. I.S. Jones says:

    So, the poem starts “In my life”, and everything before that is too much exposition. Blend in these sentiments and be careful of writing the most obvious things. I love how strong & commanding the voice is. Keep at it, fam.

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