War On Black Boys Poem by Sheila Whiting

War On Black Boys

You got the right to remain silent anything you say or do at this point will not really matter because your skin color has Already confessed to the crime you have the right to an attorneywho will try his hardest that Justice is seenbut a jury of your peersAKA our attorneys will have them out matched 12 to 1 if you cannot afford an attorney one will be provided to you free of charge because he is also on our payroll do you understand these rights as they have been read to you whoa whoa whoa whoa Don't move I see you reaching for your 9mm wallet I see you reaching for your 30 caliber inhaler well I said don't move stop breathing you're puffing up your chest I feel threatened stop resisting arrestis thata weapon lay down no face down no no face ground Bang Pow oops I Did It Again no I'm a pop star no I'm a cop star no by the time I get to the precinctI will be a rockstarClap for himI have more trophies with black names on them than bet award winners platform I will probably be honored at the NYPD award dinner clap form they are going to throw me a parade platform because when I clap for him they go to the Grave black boys cries following death white ears black Mother's tears keep graveyard grass green and black men's bones are the gavel in which judges finalize false convictions wake up black boys it's time to declare war I wonder Trayvon Martin's mother how she feels that her son is a household name and he is not a household body I wonder is Freddie Gray's family can still Say grace over their food even though their prayers could not stop theThief that robbed him of his last breath I wonder when Tamir rice died playing cops and robbers if you still saw the former more innocent than the ladder or wonder is black women feel closer to God because they're steady having to laid to rest their only begotten son I wonder if black people skin got darker because we're closer to the Sun and how many years will it takeus to grow bullet proof skin because we're closer to the guns I'm tired I'm tired of going to funerals where babies are being buried in boxes that are bigger than the ones they used to poison I'm tired of not being able to say see you later to my friends we're steady practicing our goodbye words to each other I'm tired of not being able to tell my girlfriend let's wait until we're married I'm scared she will walk down the aisle and see me in a box before she sees me in a tuxedo I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired I'm tired because I'm forced to stay woke in a society who's laws are written as lullabies to black people I'm tired I'm tired I wonder if America will be the alarm when she wakes up and see the black people are sleeping no more Because the American dream is the African American Nightmare I'm tired I'm tired tired because I'm forced to stay woke and if I finally go to sleep I might stay asleep forever.

By Kale Nelson

Gordon Marshall 23 January 2020

A powerful commentary on the perception of African-American boys and men in modern-day America. Mickale " Kale" Nelson is a tour-de-force with this inaugural poem. Thank you Sheila Whiting for giving it the exposure it deserves.

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