hands up

it starts on my block with my friends

it’s a normal day of fun, games, grilling and chilling

we’ve been sipping, someone on the block is sparking

they put it in the air,

I’m sure we smell like it.

up the block is a liquor store that doubles like a general store.

we start to stroll there (we been sipping so no driving)

we’re a pride to behold on our supply stroll.

not even glancing at the people who happen to trail us

we could have seen their hurt filled eyes or even their shiny shields.

getting to the store we load up the carts

eggs… check

half smokes & buns…. check and check

Rum? which kind? Cruzan & Malibu… Got it

we pull more products down restocking our supply

we catch 1st the cashier’s eye. She say Hi

we catch securities eye. he signals the men outside

pulling up checking out

pulling out cash the bills hits $600.

We count it out to the T

security still looking.

we load up bags

putting them on our backs.

walking out the door

they hold us up asking about the cash we carry

wanting to see ID

grabbing our shirt, trying to see our ink

asking what set we claim.

We tell ’em Fuck off and push past

Cept I’m last out the door.

its six of them 1 of me

the head one flashes that shield his crew flashes their steel.

I’ve got my hands up & back down

I put my bag down hearing bottles clink.

the store owner demands we all leave

my boys are stuck outside waiting for me.

the phones come out when the chrome comes out.

They’re saying something about gang this or that

do I have any tats?

where I stay?

Any weapons on me?

I can’t process what they’re saying.

I’m only seeing the gun in my face

my life is in their hands, not a whole hand but a finger.

I pull out my ID

quelling their perception of my identity

they don’t see the hours I work with kids

or the degree i’m getting

the life laying before me.

instead they see all negatives that I call positives

from dreads (I call Locks)

to looking like the bloc (it’s the weekend so no Tie for me)

They say they smell weed (it’s in the air, but it ain’t me)

they’re not trying to understand me or think of my family.

I sneeze and my body jerk

I hit the floor

my chest burns & i’m can’t figure why

people are screaming

my hands are sticky

i’m getting chill

raising my body

trying to stand

raising my head

I still can’t hear them

I don’t hear the report

feeling it is whats left

seeing the hateful glare

my last thought is



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