White Silence #whiteviolence (a poem)

I was at the [too docile] march on Washington today (which, as a 25-year-old in twenty-first century America, theory says shouldn’t have been necessary for the reasons it is – but that will be another story). Many thoughts running over my mind, including the question by some. You probably have asked it yourself. This is my short response.

If the hoodie was a mask,
I cast the shadows on his intentions;

If his feet hit the pavement,
I was the bullet that brought his face to kiss it;

If he was playing in the wrong place at the wrong time,
I was the predator that kidnapped childhood from the playground;

And If black was the sin,
I was the judge;

For all the above are true
If ever I was witness,
But was not voice.
Awaken.

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. Kceleste777 says:

    These crimes are not yours too keep. But sharing awareness and vocalizing injustice is honorable. Many Respects. This piece shocks with truth of emotions. 🙂

    Like

    1. Perhaps not mine directly, per se, but if I ever stop vocalizing injustice, they and more like them, shall become mine personally. I think it’s an obligation, once you become aware of such things, to bring attention to them and do whatever it is you can to change them (even if, for now, all that I can do is perhaps speak about it).

      Like

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