This is a poem for my brothers, sisters, and everything inbetween
This is a poem for the grief stricken Tracy Martin that must endure steep heaves of
Why why why, no no no, you must be mistaken, you must've seen
I mean, he knows this is false system that isn't built for him and me
It's a system that is built around these old dusty seats
occupied by oppression that drag on like bullet holes too loud to speak
This is a poem for the wrongfully guilty free
A jury full of this irresponsible deed giving Joe G. the power to stalk and flee
While his hands are seemingly clean
Please
This is a poem for my little sister too tired to breathe
While shadows full of makeshift mask lay down trash piles of copious wreaths
Thick cash bribes and I have to ask why
Why is the color of my skin still an issue of guilty guilty not guilty
See, no one will give us a fight, not even a slight scream
So lets build until everyone is blind and unable to give even the smallest peep
This is a poem for the kid that lives on the coastal edge of beach side property breeze
Not worrying over prejudice stained figures lurking behind each step
The kid that stops this cycle of deciding fate on melanin levels, location, appropriation
of their orientation, gender specific expectations, and of course levels of taxation.
This is a poem for the feet that step onto freeways that only know
the bottom of car tires passing in and out of sleep
These same freeways now worn from constant swarms of no justice, no peace.
No justice no peace echoing into empty backseats bouncing back to officer please
Release me from these shackles of the click clack click clack
ringing of "Not Guilty" not guilty not guilty, man please!
This poem is for the my brother with his hoodie up, arms tucked not because he's some sort of thug
No, only those wanna be Joe G's chase us into these categories of false labels and identities
Misjudging me, my brothers and sisters you see, until this society screams
No justice, no peace.
This is a poem for Trayvon Benjamin Martin
The Trayvon in me
The Trayvon that can one day rest in peace when these old dusty seats are replaced
with unmuffled pleads, good natured deeds, and some fine hearts that understand
what it takes to just breathe
This is a poem for Trayvon Benjamin Martin
The Trayvon in me
The Trayvon in my brothers, sisters, and everything in between
