Race

Race (pm)

as i watch in horror i have to try one last time to not make it about race

as a boy waltzing down the street candy in hand, or a man walking out the store is kneed down and sat atop, as to give us a glimpse into their supremacist dystopian, as to represent what it means when they say, great replacement.

i watch in disdain as my sisters are disregarded and considered insufficient, the words diversity, as if their blackness makes them less, equity, as if their presence would fill the room with culture, inclusion, as if we didn't come this far to fail.

i watch as my home is filled with red, white and blue every night, while i try my best one last time to not make this about race, red, my brothers blood dripping down his from his lifeless body, white his skin turns as he fades from reality, blue his face turns as the weight on his neck, resisting, becomes too much, this doesn't feel patriotic, it's not pride, as i chant "we not going back"

while i sit back slowly dying inside and once again try to not make this about race

i sit back and see as they march in the street with a sign screaming this our town, chanting that "they will not replace us" hate behind the wheel of a car, horror in the eyes of the people. but no need to fret or waste another breath because there's good people on both sides, while my sister holds her pot of peace, her way of protecting soul, i see the same story we've seen all along, as i sit back tears in my eyes

as i once again try to not make this about race

so when you ask me, why do yall always make everything about race? ill remind you genocide, congolese hands gone without a trace, i'll remind you of the crosses of hate, slurs screamed in our face, ill remind you bombs in the pulpit, not safe in our holy place,

and you'll look me in my black eyes and tell me racism wasn't the case

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