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Friday, April 17, 2015

No. 7 of my 30 in 15 for National Poetry Month

Not Here For It.

I am not here to appease the masses
of people who cry buckets of privileged tears
Neither am I here to trapeze to and fro to coddle stubborn asses
who are so [willingly] oblivious in their privilege that they won't admit their fears
That maybe, perhaps they have been wrong this whole time
That quite possibly, most definitely not all these unarmed Indigenous peoples committed crimes
That Tanisha Brown's death was justly ruled a homicide
and her killer is walking free; they just let dude slide
That an unsuspecting Rekia Boyd was killed by an off-duty officer
with no justification but 'suspicion' when he hauled off and shot her
That Trayvon Martin really was just buying Skittles and Arizona iced tea
and met his untimely demise at the hands of a vigilante creep
That an officer--erm--plainclothesman brought Eric Garner [with an illegal chokehold] to his death
as the man cried out: I. Can't. Breathe. He took his final breath
That an unarmed Michael Brown's misdemeanors should never have warranted a death sentence,
but this officer who killed him execution style, shot him--and meant it
That Tamir Rice and his toy gun were simply having (perhaps foolish) but boyish fun
yet, 15 seconds on the scene, cop discharged murderous bullets from his gun
How do you explain 'he looked about 20' to a 12-year-old boy's Mum

Just in case you were wondering where this is coming from
I would explain
But at this point, I'm tired
Tired of saying the same damn thang

If you can't find wrong in a justice system that vindicates the killing of unarmed human beings...
Wake. The eff. Up.
I am not here to protect your vain feelings

Mirakol Smith, April 17, 2015

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