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Jun 2020
Sparks fly, and people die;
A cycle that tends to repeat
Endlessly.

Bullets fly, across the sky;
People mourn and cry for love lost;
Grieving for their future days
That would never come,
That has paid the cost.

The cost of what may you ask?
The cost of being black.

Sparks are shot into the sky;
Blood is shot into the sky;
Sweat is shot into the sky,
Tears are shot into the sky,

For being of color,
An eye for an eye?

No? / Then I wonder why?

Why nothing is done until
A fatal outcome?
Why peaceful protests urge uproar,
While unarmed men lay pinned
In the street...
Beneath someone’s knee,
Unable to breathe?

Tell me.
Tell me what the answer is,
To stop the violence,
But most importantly,
To feel safe in my skin
With my melanin.

I love humanity, but this is a message
That needs to be known;
In hopes for all to be seen equally;
Not to feel estranged,
Or be a victim of prejudice,
Or alone.
Black lives matter. I wrote this when the protests and riots in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and the world started. This poem is only the start of what I have to say and is certainly not the end. This is the first iteration of this piece, and I will not be responding to any hateful messages on this. It's all about love. It's all about understanding. That said, let us spread love. Let us understand in finality that hate doesn't solve a thing. This is only a fraction of the pain it causes, especially for those of color, which I understand firsthand. I will continue to hope for peace, and for an everlasting love that will bring forth the mutual and equal freedom for all that we have yet to reach. Keeping that hope alive.
Julian Alwyn Wilson
Written by
Julian Alwyn Wilson  25/M/New York
(25/M/New York)   
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