I don’t think justice is sweet-
not real justice anyway.

It’s not like a birthday cake,
baked with love, shared with joy.

I think revenge is sold to us as sweet-
the beautiful, perfectly decorated cake we bought from the shop’s window
But one bite in and you realize:
There is no sweetness only salt
And curdled milk

I think justice is communal
For the greater good

For true justice
we must change the way we think.
Not just for me, but for we
For the whole community

So how can justice be people locked in cages
Making slave wages
How is that good for community.
Parents ripped from their children
Mothers’ children stolen
locked away

Not learning how to do better
Be better
Stripped of the lessons from the mother
Taught they are less than human
Treated like zoo animals
Rounded up like rats
Unearthing the secrets of what curdles the milk

How can justice be sweet when this is the reality
Selling out my fellow humans for my right to
THE AMERICAN DREAM
But is it really a dream worth dreaming-
If it’s just for me and not for we

If this is justice
why is it so hard to sleep.
The spoiled cake sold in the bakery window
We’ve already taken more than a couple bite
Will we spit it out?
Or will we binge until we reek-
of salt and curdled milk?

Millionaires down on our luck
that’s the story, isn’t it?

With one lucky chance or a gold watch
found in a yard sale
to propel us to the heights
of hob-nobbery,
this time next year, yeah?

Another item on the unwritten list
known by those that were born to know
is that luck is a commodity
like any other
bought and sold by ‘families’
who hoard it,
a surfeit
beyond any lifetime’s need,
releasing just enough
so we all see it
and believe it to be in reach

Unless the stars aligned
when you were born
chances are you won't be on
the List
and you can make a good fist of work
and burn your very soul
in an effort to reach that goal

yet when you burst your heart for the win
the posts have shifted
and you’ll lie spent
looking at expensive leather shoes
or highly polished boots
as they step over you

Work and noise are not enough
when the system itself serves
the few

work and noise are not enough
for things to get better
for all
and unshackle luck

no justice, no peace

<synopsis>

The White man's actions when exposed to the light of day,
            cannot compete with the intellect of the black man.

Get it?
       ...Will Smith.

Oh?

That's the whole point, that you got to defend your whiteness, your privilege!"

The fact that I have to defend you isn't reason enough?

           How about this; the fact that I defend you period is the reason why you a got a shot at the title?

~Mr. Caucasian(Whiteness Monster)

They badgered me, berated me.
They beat me and they hated me.
They seemed to want me to die
Too soon, then, so did I.

I was different, and that was the reason.
Too many saw that as a form of treason.

I had to adhere to the boundaries
That were set for us artificially
They had no reference to reality;
More to some kind of elite tyranny.

And, I still find it horribly strange
That very little has changed.
The rules are still very much
Incredibly socially out of touch.

Strive to be elite or be beaten
And ultimately, almost literally eaten
By the swarm of mindless fools
That go on defending the rules  

That allow children to be thugs
And, come to school to sell drugs;
That let the criminals escape
And, turn a blind eye to ****
And abuse and battering
But keep the ******* clattering
At PTA, school board and council meetings  
More concerned with politics
Than the real-time subjects
Such as kids afraid of attending
Because the battlefield is never ending.

The shooter: white-
my race too.
The shooter: male-
my gender too.
The shooter: 21-
my generation too.

The victims: Christians-
my people too.
The place: church-
my hallowed place too.
The church: Emanuel-
my church’s name too.

Dylann Roof: Lutheran-
my faith too.

His motive: racism-
my problem too.