The tranquil petals of a crimson tulip
met the violent embrace of a ferocious wind.
The wind moved on
as the petals lay in a crimson pool.
Neither the wind nor the flower was to blame.
Beauty died quietly that day.
Not a word uttered. Nothing to say.
I have not stood where they have.
I have not struggled as they have.
But I am not ignorant, nor am I blind.
Change must happen,
And I will not stand idly by.
Are you standing on the right side, or the racist side?
i stroke the dirt above you
and hug your stone
never minding the soil that stains my jeans
a tear rolls down my cheek
as i trace my index over your
and the wind whistles for