the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right

in the supposedly post-racial united states of america

the only thing this society seems to be is post humanity.

black americans are routinely treated with barely a shred of human decency.

stripped of our agency under the iron fist of white supremacy

post the cold blooded murders of Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Ezell Ford, Eric Garner, Kimane Gray, John Crawford, and countless others-

these are the strange fruits that hang from our nation’s poplar trees.

the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right. or is it nineteen sixty four? many a time I have opened the morning paper to see headlines that would not be out of place in that era of bloodshed.

more care given to a cotton cloth flag than to the black bodies that lie battered and broken in the streets.

"think of the businesses!" they scream, mouths afroth.

but won't anyone think of the black children murdered for carrying BB Guns? won't anyone think of the fathers? the mothers? the sons and daughters whose lives are cut short by those who are supposed to 'protect and serve?'

I will stop "making this about race" when the police stop giving me reason to fear for my life simply for existing. it is not enough to be peaceful and innocent anymore.

does this conversation upset you? can you not cope with these atrocities that go on every day in your precious land of the free?

In a sick way it almost makes sense

that in a nation built from nothing upon the backs of the enslaved

that it would take a bit longer than a hundred and fifty years to stop feeling the pain.

the whips and chains that once bound us were not broken, but merely transformed.

our shackles are now student loans;

plantations were exchanged for privatized prisons and lynch mobs now wear blue uniforms.

the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right.

maybe it’s got something to do with the way that all people seem to care about nowadays is iggy azalea’s new hit single but not the way that white rappers want to be black so badly up until it’s time to fight for us. to march with us. to die with us.

miley cyrus can prance around onstage fetishizing black bodies like modern day hottentot venuses but when black bodies are being violated by the police she’s strangely silent.

the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right.


but there is a light that shines through this darkness. that light is within me, and you, and within the hearts of every single man and woman of all colors and creeds who raises their fists and says "No more."  

our fight is not over. the road will be long. it is very possible that more will die along the way.  but their deaths will not be in vain.

the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right. but it will not be this way forever.

and and fourteen and something isn't right

in the supposedly post-racial united states of america

the only thing this society seems to be is post humanity.

black americans are routinely treated with barely a shred of human decency.

stripped of our agency under the iron fist of white supremacy

post the cold blooded murders of Tamir Rice, Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, Ezell Ford, Eric Garner, Kimane Gray, John Crawford, and countless others-

these are the strange fruits that hang from our nation’s poplar trees.

the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right. or is it nineteen sixty four? many a time I have opened the morning paper to see headlines that would not be out of place in that era of bloodshed.

more care given to a cotton cloth flag than to the black bodies that lie battered and broken in the streets.

"think of the businesses!" they scream, mouths afroth.

but won't anyone think of the black children murdered for carrying BB Guns? won't anyone think of the fathers? the mothers? the sons and daughters whose lives are cut short by those who are supposed to 'protect and serve?'

I will stop "making this about race" when the police stop giving me reason to fear for my life simply for existing. it is not enough to be peaceful and innocent anymore.

does this conversation upset you? can you not cope with these atrocities that go on every day in your precious land of the free?

In a sick way it almost makes sense

that in a nation built from nothing upon the backs of the enslaved

that it would take a bit longer than a hundred and fifty years to stop feeling the pain.

the whips and chains that once bound us were not broken, but merely transformed.

our shackles are now student loans;

plantations were exchanged for privatized prisons and lynch mobs now wear blue uniforms.

the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right.

maybe it’s got something to do with the way that all people seem to care about nowadays is iggy azalea’s new hit single but not the way that white rappers want to be black so badly up until it’s time to fight for us. to march with us. to die with us.

miley cyrus can prance around onstage fetishizing black bodies like modern day hottentot venuses but when black bodies are being violated by the police she’s strangely silent.

the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right.


but there is a light that shines through this darkness. that light is within me, and you, and within the hearts of every single man and woman of all colors and creeds who raises their fists and says "No more."  

our fight is not over. the road will be long. it is very possible that more will die along the way.  but their deaths will not be in vain.

the year is two thousand and fourteen and something isn't right. but it will not be this way forever.

the year opened on two kinds of olympics:
Sochi and selfie.

we spent months looking for
one missing plane
276 missing girls,
and 43 missing students.

from Ukraine to Mexico,
Palestine to Venezuela,
to Ferguson,
the front of the battle lines
were crammed full.

their stories captivated us,
their movements motivated us.

we snapchatted, we vined and instagrammed,
we remembered their names.

Malala Yousafzai
to Mike Brown.
Eric Garner to Ebola.

we made some friends
and some enemies.

and I think,
when I look back,
years from now,
at the year 2014,
the first thing to come to mind will be,
"I was there."

id write a poem about
my wrath toward
our justice system, but
the only thing my
voice can screech, is
oh my god,
enough will never be enough

i pray justice for antonio martin

no butterflies in my stomach
I have hands in my chest
grabbing my heart
squeezing it without rest
Crushing me
I'm helpless at best
Tears welling up
salty pieces of soul
filling my eyes
down they roll
You can't ever fully escape
heartbreak
Tears
my broken self spilling out
seeping through my skin
Can't hold it all together
forever
Maybe I'm grateful for
those hands crushing my chest
Don't have to feel all the pain
desperately trying to find rest
But my soul won't stop crying
heart bleeding salty tears down my cheeks
This heartbreak doesn't heal
you just learn to live with the pain

When white men spit hatred through spiteful lips,
what will you do? Will you raise your fists?
When a white man kills a black teen without blinking,
will you turn from protests to riots without even thinking.
You want to prove something?
Prove that there is nothing a white man could do to break the black community.
Show that you will never fight fire with fire. Keep MLK alive, let him live in your city.
Beat hatred unconscious with love, and drown it in peaceful protest.
For, Mike Brown's death was only a test.

Our Guardians "Stand tall"

Our Guardians reach out to "Break our fall"

Our Guardians are here to "Protect"

Our Guardians deserve our "Respect"

But somewhere along, we've gone astray

And it seems, the life of minorities we pay.

We no longer look up at out Guardians, who we once adored

They look down upon us, creating those feelings we abhor.

Instead of reaching out, and breaking our fall

They bring down the baton, and our rights stall.

Our Guardians were chosen, their duty to protect

But it seems a majority is experiencing neglect.

"Respect your Guardians", says a whisper in our ear

But in the Guardians, we have begun to fear.

Our Guardians are now, creating massive harm

Regardless of whether or not we bear arms.

A man was choked to death in New York

But we must remain calm, we cannot raise the pitch fork.

We must follow the words, of our wonderful King

From hill to hill, let freedom ring

Our Guardian's freedoms, we must respect

And urge in return, ours they protect.

To end racism, and bring on equal rights

We must use our voices, it is pointless to fight.

Looting and rioting, we will see no achievement

We must peacefully protest, change will come, believe it.

Equality is near, I feel it in the air

Our voices tremble not, I feel no despair.

We are on the verge of righting our wrongs

We look to the Gospel and, in song,

We unite our voices, and bring forth change,

Equality for all, the idea is not strange.

Continue the journey, my brothers and sisters,

Raise your voices, fall not to whispers.

But
Love hung on a tree
Bruised body
blood flowed
Love died for my shame

Love didn't look at skin or color
Love didn't look at nationality,
legality
Love look at souls
and said we're brothers
Blood flowed
for every nation,
tribe and
tongue

But we've forgotten.

And now
the prophets of the streets
crying like Pentecostal priests
Beating chests and
stomping feet
Begging
those choosing blindness
to see

See our pain
Feel our fury
Our righteous anger
rages
against injustices you pretend can
remain unseen

You were born with this freedom
to close your eyes
We were born into a world
stabbing us from behind

So don't
bring your Bibles,
shove your tracts
drag us down aisles
You weren't here from the beginning
Fighting to break chains and
set captives free

"We have nothing to lose but our chains"

Our battle cry is freedom
justice,
equality for all
Jew and Gentile
Slave and free
Now the verses can read
Black and white
Upper class and lower
College educated, GED

You know, He's crying with us
shouting, marching
Beating chest and
stomping feet

Don't think you're bringing Jesus to us
He's already here,
on the streets
Prophecy of protests
Righteous rage against
iniquity
Jesus, the revolutionary

God with us
On the ground with us

Love doesn't look at
skin or color
And love hung from
a tree

It is our duty to fight for our freedom
Love has already won the day

And we have nothing to lose but our chains
We will fight to lose our chains

This isn't a poem
this is a protest
This isn't equality,
it's injustice.
America the brave
America the free,
Where were you,
When he said, "I can't breathe?

How are we
the leading examples
so rooted with prejudice,
it's time to turn tables.
How does one be such a threat,
at one hundred and thirty five feet
that they must be shot,  Six times,
It a miraculous feat.

Since when did murderers get off
without trial,
I mean even Republicans
won't give denial
America the brave
America my foot,
where were you,
"Hands up, don't shoot"

Its not all lives matter,
we know the white ones already do,
it's about giving others
what they're due.
Black lives matter,
Martin Luther King
gave his speech fifty years ago,
yet we're still fighting.

Have you heard the policemen,
they have no remorse,
the literal demonization,
and its going to get worse.

unless we can stop it,
and I'm hoping we can
Mike wasn't a thief,
this god forsaken land.

How are we so quick to judge,
Russia, Korea, China and more,
yet we **** innocent people,
and racism soars.

You want change,
you're blaming Obama?
Change it yourself,
Family means ohana

Yeah that's A children's movie,
but wait a moment yet
we could learn a lot
from children I bet.

They don't have biases,
they're only three
in their small minds
everyone's free.

But thats not the truth
It's cold and hard,
just the bodies
of a bright future,
Mike Brown
of a boy with a hoodie
Trayvon Martin
of a Twelve year-old boy
Tamir Rice
of a husband and father of six children
Eric Garner
You won't be forgotten,
as long as this world I'm living in
as long as it goes on,
you'll always be thought of
and what might've been.