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.

Keep close enough to them,
That they cannot throw their gas;
Always run against the wind,
The pain too shall pass;
Once you've come into contact,
Rinse with milk and never water.
Keep fighting for your basic rights,
Keep fighting for Micheals slaughter;
You've thrown open the police force,
Now the world has to inspect,
So to Ferguson with all my love,
To Ferguson with all my respect...

A forgotten scene,
So far in past,
That the strings are blues,
And a guitar his cast,
Behind the clouds,
We call his eyes,
Are stories we
Can't even find,
The demons leap,
And scrape on heels,
Beyond their reach,
And still he feels,
A strengthened face,
The calmest of stair,
You won't see the shadows,
But they are still there,
A hand that slides,
As the music blares,
To change the eyes,
Adapt the stare,
To find the tune,
And change the sound,
Yet to be lost,
Yet now is found,
A heart that beats,
With the speakers screams;
A secret angel,
With secret wings,
Watching over,
In a state of sane,
You won't see the age,
Of previous pain,
And so a smile,
Creeps onto the lips,
That have screamed and sworn,
And lashed like whips,
To recall the flowers,
Spoken by the same mind,
As the poetry flows,
You'll see more than you'll find,
A silent twist,
As the sounds will flow,
Past thoughts and memories,
No one will know...

Their summer reminds me,
Of the eternal one that was yours,
And hair dark like summer storms
That smelled of spring flowers,
Eyes like the streams
We would watch at midday,
The eyes that taught me,
To open mine and see day,
A smile that would play
On the corner of rosed lips,
Withholding the laughter
That built into fits,
Fingers that danced over skin,
Beaded with the drops,
You caused down my spine,
With every game that I "lost"
A collarbone I knew by heart,
As my lips blindly traced,
Every dip of your skin,
Felt how your heart raced,
You tasted like first rain,
As your tongue asked for entrance,
As gentle as lightening,
With our fingers finally laced,
My hands found home
At your hips,
And my mouth found life
At your lips,
Scars laced your arms,
Like vines filled with each flower,
And I knew every curve,
I knew everything you'd allow her,
The blush of your cheeks
That rose from your neck,
With every stolen glance,
And every stolen peck.

The thunder storms dried,
And spring flowers turned to dust,
Leaving nothing but chill,
Where there was once lust,
The rains turned to dry puddles,
Your collarbone to stone,
No longer beating,
Completely alone,
Beads of sweat turned to tears,
As your fingers lay still,
No heart beat resonated,
I didn't see you where ill,
The blush of your cheeks,
Became the red of your vines,
The roses where blooming,
As my flower died,
And so came on winter,
Frost fell over the ground,
Of Sleeping Beauty's own grave,
Death nor love, neither be proud...

Hate and love,
Find what’s between,
As death consumes
And breathes my being,
Ghosted eyes,
And tinted shame,
A chemical reaction,
To his name,
A tumor found,
But a scalpel lost,
Inside my chest,
Behind what’s locked
And cuts away,
With each rise and fall;
Of a broken chest,
From a broken fall;
Take this name;
And take this hate,
Try control your mind;
Take in your fate;
Of broken homes,
And nightmare nights,
Shaking hands,
As your own mind fights
On what is real,
And what it seems,
Just breathe in baby,
Death will be your best dream…

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