No Justice. No Peace.
We're killed for jaywalking,
But are expected to remain at ease.

We're seen as looters.
When terrorists are heroes.
And never unjust shooters.

They "protect and serve."
They protect each other.
Whether its inhumane doesn't matter.
Then they serve morgues...
with young black bodies on shiny silver platters.

They don't want to hear us.
So we're told to remain peaceful because it's easier to ignore a sound that isn't being made.

And if we remain quiet the passion for wrong doings will begin to fade.

Black people are ashamed of each other for rioting in their own community. But it doesn't belong to us.  So feel free to burn down gas stations and break the windows out of a Toys"R"Us.

We'll be executed in suits. We'll be executed in sweats. We'll be executed when we're armed and We'll be executed when we pose no threat.

So scream if you have to.
Let it all out.
Fight fire with fire.
It will grow, and eventually someone will put it out.

Because remaining peaceful has gotten us nowhere.

When we're peaceful they don't care. They torment us. And we're mocked. And are attacked with tear gas while rubber and wooden bullets are being shot.

So don't shoot. But when you need to. Shoot back.
I want us to be able to raise children who won't be murdered for being big while black.

And it isn't in the U.S.A.
Where Unjust Shootings are Admissible.
And Uniformed Shooters are Admired.

So fight back. Even though we're already so tired.

That girl
Is skin and bones
Takes long drags on her cigarette
Makes funny comments
About not eating
She's mysterious and vague
And she's not real
Eating disorders are not fun,
Or cute, or romantic, or tragically beautiful
There's nothing romantic
About worrying about
Your breath smelling
Of ***** while kissing
Someone you love
There's nothing romantic
About seeing an expensive dinner
Your boyfriend bought you
Swim blurrily in the toilet
There's nothing beautiful
About rotted teeth
And hair growing on your arms
If you think this is beautiful,
You can have it in exchange
For the ability to do basic things
I need in order to live
Like ******* eat  
It's not beautiful
To never feel beautiful
And never love yourself
So when we see ribs on a girl
And you see romance,
I'll see her ribs
As a cage
Keeping the pain in

I just realized that no matter what I do
or say
or conquer
or love
or ****
or create
or ****
or consume
or throw up
or give..........

It will never be enough.

Kinda tired of being a good guy and feeling like a bad one.

Kinda sick of feeling responsible for things that I have no power to change.

Kinda fed up with not being able to sleep without drinking.

Kinda disgusted with the accursed dance of attraction to people no good for me.

Kinda hating that it's summer and I have a winter inside.

Kinda worried that I'm turning into somebody I don't recognize anymore.

Kinda running low on empathy when I am to others what I am in need of.

Kinda tired of being a good guy and feeling like a bad one.

I am not in the business of
Listening to lies
Which is why I hardly hear
When you say "I love you"
Love is the most overused word
In the english language
"I love this song!"
"I love this book!"
"I love that movie!"
"I love you."
It's become an impulse,
A reflex
Spoken in a monotone voice
Because I'm expected to
And every time we exchange those words
It feels like a transaction to me
When the words slip from your mouth
They feel clumsy and awkward
With no passion and not a hint of truth
Everyone tells me you don't mean those things
That you yell at me
That you say things without thinking
But just because you speak without a filter
Doesn't mean it's not true
If anger and abuse is the only kind of love
You have to offer
Then I don't ******* want it
You can keep your double standards
And your lies
I thought a mother
Was supposed to have
An agape kind of love
Not make their daughters
Feel like burdens
For even being alive
You've classically conditioned me
To not believe a word anyone says
I've had hope far too many times
And whenever you tell me you love me
And I fail to reply
You'll start yelling yet again
But you don't understand,
That unlike you,
I am not in the business of
Telling people lies

When I was a little girl
And my mother still laid out clothes for me
She'd always tell me
"You're the prettiest girl in your class,
But you'd be beautiful if you combed your hair more."

When I was a bit older
And I didn't care much
About what I wore
My mom would always say
"You'd be beautiful if your clothes matched."

When I was 14,
And I skipped breakfast and lunch
And binged at dinner
I lost my appetite
And felt like throwing up
When my mom said
"You'd be beautiful if you didn't eat so much."

I wonder if you saw what I did to myself
If you'd have the nerve to tell me
"You'd be beautiful if only you didn't
Take a razor to your wrist or a finger to your throat."