MadHat11D6

They say they lost their lives How many boys need to die Before they’ll see it? Chalk outlines on the pavement Drawn around black bodies And they paint us white As we spill onto the pavement Hollow We are past it We are past it They say they lost their lives. Countless Unarmed Black boys Lost Their Lives. I reject The idea that their lives were lost Like a sock in the dryer Like a toy under the bed Like a gun to his head His life was taken. On the darkened streets walking to home to his mother His life was taken When he called the police to stop a robbery His life was taken In his home his life was taken In his home His life was taken.

He is a bumbling idiot. He never gets anything right Even the simplest of endeavors Becomes a full out catastrophe. And he speaks As if there is not a single language In The Galaxy He has properly learned. They look at him, And see a stereotype. A poor reflection of something black. I look at him, And I see a seven foot tall lizard. If I could speak plainly: Jar Jar Binks Is not a racial stereotype. There is no universe Where that makes Any amount of sense. And you look at me, Expression wary, Shoulders shrugging. “Well, I could see it.” If you do not see The irony here Then allow me to explain you something. If you see idiot

They never want to talk about the 80s. And by ‘they’ I mean our historians and by ‘our’ I mean Americans – And they never want to talk about the 80s. We know 1619 as the year our people became yours – And by yours, I mean your property. Taken from their home, their world, shackled on your ships In a way you would not treat animals. And by you, I guess I mean us because White history is black history is my history is our history It began in 1619. And I write these words now because of Lucy Terry in 1746 Solomon Northrup in 1853 Fredrick Douglas in 1864. Because Zora Neale Hurtson in 1956. Alice Walker in 1

With the covers pulled over my head, my room darker than the city night and the steady breath of my sister in the bed below me, I would put my hands together, close my eyes, and pray. I’m not sure who I was praying to. I knew God then, I suppose. Each night asking for the same thing. Never receiving, but I’d never stop. I couldn’t sleep unless I prayed. Dear Lord, I thank you for such a nice day. Please let us all have good dreams tonight and a good day tomorrow. And please, please, please let me have the power to fly. In Jesus name I pray, amen. I thought these words each night, and each morning I’d wake from my night

I. The sun shines so beautifully this time of year. To feel the warmth, to see the brightness reflecting Off everything; the serene water, still icy even in this heat; The leaves, green as they always are. The beauty alone is enough to make anyone smile   But there's always more to it, more to the beauty of it all. This is the time of year when people gather together, All singing the same tune, dancing to the same song. They can feel it. It reverberates throughout the crowds, All the happiness, the joy, the fulfillment. The one time of year when everyone comes together, Brought out by the sun. Beaming in its image. It'

It began in the quietest hours of the night. Granny was snoring up a storm, her bed creaking with each breath and twitch of her bigness. That's always the first thing I remember, thinking back. She always snored in the same way Pappy revved up the engines of his prized Cadillac. Loud, proud, and never ending. I s'pose I should start with what happened before hand. Nothing will make sense if I don't. It don't make no sense anyhow, but the story won't be right if I don't start before everything got bad. So we were in the market, Granny and I. We go every Sunday while my parents and siblings are at praise and worship with most of the rest of t