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Xaria Dec 2020
The Police you fear.
You’ve feared them since you were five,
Mother always telling you as such.
You’re not breaking the law at five, right?
If you did, then you’d totally deserve whatever they’d do to you.
After all, they only go after people who disobey the law!

The Police you have nightmares about. Frequently.
Do you speed in your dream? Seriously?
How is it that you commit crimes in your dream?
If you don’t want to be ‘bothered’ (or as some intellectuals put it, murdered or killed), maybe just follow the law??

The Police give you pause every time you see them while driving.
The Police cause your heart to pound, your fists to clench the wheel,
And you to immediately slow down to 10 mph below the speed limit.
Really?? C’mon, now you’re just being dramatic.
If you’re so freaked out by them, maybe not speed so much?
Unless…you’re hiding something in your car?
You’ve got brown skin; you act all afraid of the cops…
You probably have drugs on you. You seriously deserve to be searched.
Just kidding! Although, I’m sure some of the white people you tell this too might actually believe it.

The Police you fear at the airport, with their K9 dogs on leashes.
It does not help that your stupid acne medication smells like ****.
Or…Maybe you just have **** on you?
You know that the dumb dog probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
But hey, at least it doesn’t smell like rotten eggs!

The Police you have to create a lot of strategies around,
Like a football game,
But instead of winning,
The main goal is not to get beaten or shot to death!

The Police have harassed your dad a lot.
You’re always told how you’re a shade or two lighter than him.
But hey! At least you’re not darker!

The Police harass your dad at work and off work.
But if he didn’t want to stop, maybe not wear a LG uniform and drive in a LG truck!
No wonder why they stopped him and asked what he’s doing!
He’s so suspicious.

The School/University Police has never once made you feel safe.
You freeze up like a deer in headlights and force yourself to move.
You keep your head down, not maintain eye contact,
But maybe in order to make it really clear
You should wear a gigantic “I AM NOT SUSPICIOUS SIGN”.
Do they sell those on Amazon?

Maybe you can take a look online?
Maybe that’ll help your whole…’ooh I’m so scared of cops thing?’
Whatever you do, get some help.
monique ezeh Feb 2020
Not until you can see the pain in our eyes, the scars on our skin, the protruding ribs and distended stomachs of malnourishment, till you can gape at small black bodies disfigured by kwashiorkor and colonization, till you can gasp at people that don’t look like you being branded like cattle, like animals on their way to the slaughterhouse
(and thank goodness we’ve come so far, things used to be so bad)

Not until you can marvel at the mottled marks of a whip, the black and blue bruising only white hands can inflict, till you can shake your head at teens boldly drinking under a whites only sign, till you can cover your mouth and peek through fingers at the water hoses, the dogs, the guns, the blood— black blood on black bodies in black and white photographs
(and you inwardly sigh, relieved that it was so long ago and so far away)

Not until you can retweet teenagers face to face with riot gear and tear gas, till you can shake your head and show that you’re different because your black studies class told you so, till you can give a 40 character message about how sickening the violence is, but you keep watching the videos of him her him her him her him her him her
them
shot choked kicked punched beaten whipped slapped
killed
by government sanctioned executioners

Not until you can see everything but understand nothing

Always have to be ugly raw hurting bleeding suffering
Why can’t we be smiling laughing eating dancing breathing

Why can’t we be smiling

Why
been thinking a lot about the pervasive voyeurism of black suffering, of how widely circulated images of suffering and death are. i don't want to see another image of a black person dying in the street. i don't think i can.

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