Say their names


Here we go again

another body slain

more families to experience the gut-retching pain

of seeing their loved one maimed.


I’m screaming that black people are real

strip away TV’s galore of gangster and sex appeal

follow us to the church and mosque where we kneel

as we nurse our gaping wounds to heal.


This is not about black on black crime

If Tyrone kills his brother he doesn’t see a dime

but if  a journalist posts the body of Tyrone’s dead brother, the attention is monetised

and if a picture of Tyrone should arise

you will not see humanity in his eyes

just a mugshot to desensitise.


Fake activists and pragmatists

the rhetoric of which I will never get the gist

“We have issues in our communities much worse than this.”

But acknowledging police brutality doesn’t deny other problems don’t exist!


I can give you the names of the deceased in their numerous lists

How no matter the situation, the scenario persists

“He had a gun.” “He’s got a record.” “He looked suspicious.”

All to justify killing a man in front of his kid.



Hash-tags and names

I can’t stand the pain

of seeing another family broken

over an institutional slaying.


I skip commentaries on the timeline

refuse to open graphic tweets

I’ve been doing so well

this footage could ruin my week.

“But what about the lives, deprived?”

It’s not my reality.


But yes it is, yes it is.

Because as long as I continue to breathe and bleed, I have the potential to bring life to what is considered no more than a beast in society, into the streets, into communities.

Black children.

There’s not a place I can raise them where they will be exempt from this treatment.

The odds are in my favour that I will suffer a bereavement.

The passing of my son will be considered an achievement.

And the officer will celebrate with administrative leave.


I’m learning mankind and black-kind are not on equal par. That the death of a gorilla is more concerning than that of a black man. I don’t understand.


All the lovers of black people where are you now!?!

As our blood soaks into the ground do you still love us?

No booty to shake, no music to make, no food to taste, no weave to lace, dead on the ground, life gone from our face, do we still mean something to you?

Guess it was too good to be true – that you could love us both in life and in death.

Wow, black deaths really don’t phase you.


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