1. Everybody heard the gunshots but we we’re the only ones close enough to hear the end of a pulse the sudden stop of a heartbeat the world mourned over the loss of another black boy that day but us we we’re numb the stench of blood mixed with melanin way too fucking familiar we didn’t cry we feared they fled we stood we fought we stole in the middle of riots don’t you judge us there were things far more valuable getting took from those streets
2. Sorry officer your arsenal ain’t got shit on these metaphors fuck your guns your hand held pussies will never birth death on these corners again & no I won’t apologize for the use of foul language until you apologize for your guns because this is my choice of weapon I load it with illusion this poem is an execution a cop killer
3. The Moon is on the Whiteys it’s dark the elephants have their candles lit the donkey’s throats are slit. it’s civil war inside of these politics we politely put our pleads in poems asked for are reparations in respect but yet they fled when we tried to cash there faulty reality checks. Whitey went to the moon at 6 a clock noon, in found a way to segregate that too. Never investigated the dark side our side was a part tied up in a gangbang between the streets & promiscuous government sluts.
4. Today the streets kept trying to turn themselves back into rivers
5. Shooting into shadows shackled to their faiths. Faces grow weary. Everybody’s living with dead corpses. Mothers kiss their kids goodbye in the place of good mornings. Kids don’t make it to 21. Cops on the hunt for mother’s kids. You win if you make it to 21. Kids play basketball for fun in gym.
6. In the morning they will tell mama to take better care of her children. As they plaster my brother’s body bombarded with bullets on airways bulletins for all to see. He’s bloodied. Don’t look. Don’t look. The news keeps trying to turn our brother into a convenience store sale his death as entertainment to a 6 a clock audience whose eyes carved from horizons know all too well the feeling of mourning.
7. A hurricane came through the hood & nobody seemed to notice the difference. Neighbors emerged from the water damped soaked coughing up water a disaster they never knew happened spitting up what they already had in them already death. America has yet to document this travesty the facts have long been lost sealed with a government issued stamp although they did name it Reagan. Although it did come sometime in the ‘80s you can still find drown victims outside of corner stores pocketing manmade snow storms a disaster everybody saw coming but still it managed to mess up the 90’s My brother has just became a snowman mixing snow in stardust a neighborhood superstar my mother & father laid down becoming snow angles flapping their wings behind closed doors getting high & never coming back down to say their goodbyes. I never learned to adapt to climate change the endless lakes that swallowed up neighborhoods in left houses abandoned on every block east of Troost. Left question marks where families use to be can somebody please inform the Greek gods that it isn’t polite to gamble over ghettos Poseidon tilts his staff & a wave of water comes colliding into a society already accustomed to the government’s water boarding fanatics. Aphrodite bends in her skirt lifts inspiring a sea of girls to be more promiscuous forgetting their names so use to cat calls some will search for Noah’s ark the others will fall on 4 legs learning to arch searching for a savior in a man no more god then she. Kansas City will bottle broken boys & sell this disaster in liquor stores as a convenience their black friends will then pour these remains onto grounds. Returning the spirits of their brothers bodies buried beneath the bones of babies killed in the body of Kansas City. Shivering from the winds of a summer that produced a Dust Storm nobody seen coming although they did see it coming. Although they did call it heroin it still managed to devour my aunt’s soul my grandma’s & my grandpa’s soul leaving their bodies dry like deserts floors. Maybe this is why god sent a hurricane to the hood even though he promised never again. At night thunder claps so often near home bullets fast as lighting strikes my brother lighting strikes Artez lightning strikes Kam lightning strikes Dion lighting storms. Plague ghettos until getting stuck by bullet becomes natural in the thunder applauds the end of a boy. An avalanche came to the hood giving way to metal we never mass produced but yet it still managed to mess up today mass producing suicide inside of a race that has always been too strong to break too loud to be quieted always adapting always adapting always adapting. Until the faith of a volcano turns into luxury until erupting is a luxury until erupting is the only hope always adapting always.
8. Alternate name for police officers: The sharks who learned to follow the slave ships
9. To them he never carried his dreams past his pillow putting them away in the mornings school a burden sticky notes stapled to spines never spoke of compliments only complaints crippling his thought patterns labeling them under construction the world painted his character crimson like blood his condition critical his teachers where false fortune tellers his future a criminal his fortune a cell his energy always interpreted as violence his smile only mischief it’s gotta be mischief
10. Today we celebrate we dance although yesterday we were subjects to different beats. We cheer in unison although yesterday we spoke in different slangs. We unite although yesterday we were divided among lands separated from our kin unnamed & renamed beat battered broken then resurrected only to to be broken again. Today we celebrate knowing & not forgetting today we celebrate not getting discouraged when everything in this country starts to remind you of slavery. New whips new chains new whips new change knew whips knew change.
11. Before I was a police officer
I used to want to be an artist
so Today I drew on a black kid
He a shade too dark, not light enough so I drew on him
painted holes in his torso I was just tryna paint him lighter.
Usually I am armed with a paint brush or pencil artists aren't supposed to draw with pens but this pen is special my firing pen
Its purpose Draw him into the image of God leave him holy
make the street lights shine through him with a stroke of your finger
create a master piece holy enough to hang above the pews
corners will pull back the blanket in marvel at my masterpiece what else was his blank face for
aren't blank things made to be canvases pushing led into canvases has gotten me this far