by the hands

killings by the hands police officers are sacrifices for Evil

seasons are changing from South to North

we can only live by the roots we have been born from

desperately being individual selves yet having to comply

then one realizes that America is the Free Country of this World.

that it has been taking little colored boys from their homes since they were coerced from Africa

Enslaving millions of brown people until we called ourselves black

and meant it

and was proud of it

when I know black is the color of tar and my people are the color of golden baked chocolate chip cookies

its redundant to march on Washington and sing we shall overcome when we have already overcame

not recognizing the struggle no new tactics have been formed to eradicate the ism

all the brains people got and some choose to smoke it all up, snort it up the nose, shoot in the veins, yell behind megaphones, black lives matter, march in the cold, then rush to the warm houses that house their loves and talk about the struggle what needs to be done…

I’m just a poet expressing what has been steaming in my brain for a while

so if offense is taken not my place to apologize

my place to observe the high number of 1134 and wonder why the national outrage hasn’t been louder

one thousand one hundred thirty-four is a six-word single word

so there should be some single outcry from triple that number

maybe I’m thinking too high, not deep enough

not snappy with the wit and the lilt

yet where is the poetry in the killing of 1134 black males in our nation

by the hands of men with blue and black suits and licensed guns

we call them cops so they get away with it

five times higher that the number of white men killed in America last year

one thousand one hundred thirty-four young black men have held their hands up in fear

looked their killers in the face very brazenly I imagine and say their final words

before the bullets riddled their bodies and fleshed spewed across city streets or front porches

leaving permanent blood splatters on the concrete

steady reminders that this land was built by our hands and backs and sweat and blood

seems nothing is to change that

I’m from Cleveland where we only fear God

because to fear someone on these streets is to lose your life

this land is for city slickers only

like Chicago, St. Louis, L.A, Newark, Brooklyn, D.C, Baltimore, Detroit, Atlanta, Cincinnati, Louisville,

Places where you only see the landmarks,

not the old projects or the bodies of those left wide open for our youth to find in fields walking to the worst schools in their district

1134 seems like a large number when looking back at it, it is only 52 weeks in a year, and 365 days so within those numbers 1134 black men were maimed by the fuzz

seems redundant to have civil rights, checks and balances, media outlets, the Supreme Court, Washington D.C and its Federalli if they are not going to put a state of emergency among the states

that power in Washington D.C trickles down when it wants too

not that it can’t

when it hits too close to home…I don’t know…something is telling me this was all a part of the experiment to begin with

making the American people believe in its concepts, silently reeling in brown/black people

smiling in our faces all the time wanna take our places

setting up projects renaming then housing authorities

being the snake that deceived in the beginning of time

the government

probably wouldn’t like this poem

I chuckle

I’m just a poet observing the environs I live in

all I could do is report the real truth not what the newspapers and news reporters want us to know

not how they program us

what I see when I ride down my streets

makeshift memorials

we take our loved ones to the cemetery to rest

yet they live on within balloons and teddy bears wrapped around telephone poles at the murder site

I see that

the youth see that

this nation is grieving so hard that we seem oblivious to the pain

we have seen so much death it does nothing anymore to our souls

there isn’t a wow factor

no one is covering the eyes of our babies not to look

it is what they were born into

and as of yet there hasn’t been a revolt

an absolute overthrow of the system to do right by its citizens,


has not taken a stance that disrupts out of outrage for these slayings.

isn’t human life worth more than human rights?

though nonviolence nonviolence…

where are the rough riders?

where is our new normal?

we are dying

by the hands of a system set up to protect and to serve

it has become so twisted in our nations, in our cities,

in our households that we put on plastic smiles and fake hugs ashing out our true selves

we watch walking dead and we are the walking dead

we are the zombies

right now

as you wake up and pray

get washed and dressed

feed your stomach and walk out your house

doing your routine and taking orders

or running a business and falling victim to fraud

or applying for the academy and not questioning tactics that arouse your moral detector on wrong

we don’t feel anymore

the love has got lost in the tons of blood that has been shed

we are choking on the blood of 1134 black men

and no one needs cleansing

the power is sitting back eating gourmet edibles watching the mockery

the executions

the slayings…

this poem goes on…

this poem goes on…

the blood goes on…the killings will continue…

no music can save us

this poem has no ending…





About monalisasrandomthoughts

I craft people poems. I laugh out-loud. I love all things. Everything is about order. My movements are chess. Everything to me calculates. I just look like this.
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