Racism is alive.
Fear is real.
Love only exists inside materialistic bullshit and which pics online will garner likes, envy and want.
Racism is a cancer that’s killing us slowly. It eats from within and makes us view each other through a hopeless scope. We’re reminded of how the richest niggas can rock an expensive gold rope and forgetting about a time when niggas were simply swinging from ropes around a tree.
Lynchings were picnics and twisted fantasies of those who hug Racism like an attainable dream.
Supreme in their grandiosity silently judging.
Proud that their addresses don’t bring the stress of being shot on the street for something senseless.
We’ve got to hide from the fear that makes us the enemy in the eyes of those who don’t look like us AND those who look just like me.
A white hand kills a black brotha and we start with our rage
A black hand kills another brotha whose mother will no longer witness her child age
But instead of rage we shake our heads and place teddy bears on street corners to appease our memories
Why not bring the anger out when one of us kills us as well?
I’m sick of the rallies and marches that become fashionable for a time until we’ve all subsided back into our awkward complacency.
Although I must say this time it feels as if people are finally starting to get it.
Police brutality is real.
The discounted price placed upon black lives is evident.
The apathy of the privileged and ignorant is disgusting.
The world knows it’s fucked up and remains to be fucked up because all know is how to be fucked up.
Our learned behavior notwithstanding, this strain of my jumbled thoughts offer nothing in the way of a solution. I’m merely observing what I have always known about the time I live in.
I say it on my Facebook page. I shout it in my carriage and mannerisms. I believe it like my own truth and gospel.
Racism is alive.
It illuminates all things like the sun’s rays.
It peeks reluctantly behind cloaked eyes like the stars that decorate the nighttime sky.
It breathes like fire, causing water hoses to expose the lie of a nation united until the nation must be united to demand justice for Trayvon.
People whose names get smeared and their character gets reduced to villainous scapegoating.
Eric wasn’t healthy. Mike was a thief. Tray looked suspicious.
And it is with this discontent and lack of lament or pause that causes these three brothas to rest now.
But arrested from another day’s breath.
Arrested from ever being able to shake the reality that their skin was the armor of the enemy, because they lost their battle in an endless war between an ideal of what black means and the law which protects that fear.
The Right To Bear Arms.
The Right To Be Alarmed for no reason.
The Right To Admit that since the 1600’s it’s been Open Season on niggas.
And now white people call each other nigga and listen to rich nigga’s rap about fuckin’ bitches and killin’ other niggas
Then subconsciously they take their misplaced racism and think if they listen to black music, speak black slang and know their black entertainment they’re not racist
Their black friends are cool
They’ve been to the hood to buy drugs
But shrug when a misguided slug aimed at an innocent teenage boy lays him flat swimming in blood because to believe that he’s human too defeats the purpose of their own reality
They just wanna be cool
Down with the culture
But grateful never to have to wear the skin