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.