Please.

Allow me to shed my brown

Or black

Or whatever colored skin you choose for a minute

And let me bare white-bone this.

Let me,

drop my own

Angled and deaf,

Ignorant ears,

And pick up

My mouth-eaten,

But goddamned-

abled throat.

I don’t want to hear it.

I don’t want to see

blood on the pavement,

and the marches

be considered

the overstatement.

I don’t want to see

A cousin on the news,

And watch anchors,

put his neck in a noose.

Hang his story from a tree,

Watch it burn to black.

See,

The fire of my people

Rise,

And be put down,

Put out.

See,

Riots for our lives,

In both the streets,

And our collective minds.

See,

My people fall to the pressure.

See,

My people fall to fault.

Now,

The fresh

new,

old,

aggressor,

with their marred,

colorful revolt.