You don’t have
to be capable
or kind
it don’t matter
if you’ve committed
a crime
done the perp walk
or can’t even talk
you can hock bibles
defile women
assault children
take out ads
for young Black men
and Latinos
to be killed
in the New York Times…
all these tales
told,
for the truth
to unfold…
while our fellow citizens
stand by silently,
complicit and cheering
tired of the act
of playing nice
for those they
don’t like or
care for…
all of this
to show them the
door.
When your opinion
is rooted
in the contention
that I should
have no dominon
or recourse
to my voice…
relegated to being seen
not heard
or that I should
bend my knee
to vitriol
and ignorance
a tacit acceptance
that I should
know my place
amid the uncomfortable truth
that there
is no love
behind fake smiles
and lying eyes…
this divide I surmise
is comprised
of the plenty…
taking from the
many
and given that
the feebleminded
are too shook
to read books
no time to sit still
but enough to chill
while spilling
the tea
on evil
being mean…
no rules enforced,
divorced,
from the course…
together in
a house,
doused with the
flames of hate
and otherness.
A reading of the piece as a part of the SuperCousins Initiative... (below)
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