he asks for breath and the knee presses down harder. his chest. his neck, he pleads. all he sees are hazy shapes of should-be protectors, kneeling on his neck. and all he can do is whimper at the irony. his baby girl cannot bend the knee at a football game without remembering her daddy's final moments. of gasping for that all-american dream. of tears angrily falling when she learns the whole saw disrespect in not pledging to fabric. a color coded tapestry standing in the place of the people that lost their land, those that were taken from their land, those that search for a land.
where are they? he whispers into the dark. those neighbors of friends that will wrap him in their arms and kiss the air into his lungs. stop. please. don't. i can't breathe - & he joins the line of fallen souls with once black warm skin turning ashen gray. he thought angels were white once. all white. that's what was sold in the books and the movies. but they must be black and brown. he thinks as he closes his eyes to the dead sound of ragged gasps.
i didn't even have a gun, he wants to cry. but the world sees his fingers as razors and his teeth as knives, his beautiful skin is covered in blackberry bruises and cherry stained blood trickles from his mouth. but he is joining his brothers, sisters, the other fallen with broken necks and morgue tags.
come home, brother. we are vengeful in our holiness. watch our wings wrap themselves as cocoons of billowing pliable steel around our allies. watch as we play tricks in the mirrors of our tormentors, whisper our final words to their paranoia. we have been killed fighting a war our ancestors have unknowingly been drafted in. they have volunteered us as unwanted martyrs but they forget we are saints bathing in the baptized waters of revolution. we are glorious in our rage and love. brother, give us your hand. we are the night and the stars, we will make them regret robbing our breath.
do they not know we are the beginning of every history book they right? do they forget they brought us here? can't they? won't they?
can't you see past my skin? he breaks. can't you see the beauty of my eyes and the tremor in my hands? i am just like you. but angels must be dark-skinned, we seem to die and leave the bloodiest stains, the quietest goodbyes.
black lives matter and the death of george floyd only adds to the growing victims of the black community to a country that has always favorited its white civilians most. if you can please take the time to read about the murders at the hands of the police and donate if possible.
here are a few resources i've found: [I'm sorry if they are not hyperlinked but I am on mobile and can't figure out how to do it but they can be easily copied and searched for]
Consider donating to the Official George Floyd Memorial Fund (set up by his brother)
https://www.gofundme.com/f/georgefloyd/donations
Or the GEORGE FLOYD (BIGFLOYD) gofundme set up by his sister
https://www.gofundme.com/f/george-floyd-bigfloyd
Sign petitions to help bring justice to his murder:
https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd
https://www.change.org/p/change-org-the-minneapolis-police-officers-to-be-charged-for-murder-after-killing-innocent-black-man
https://www.change.org/p/department-of-justice-mandatory-life-sentence-for-police-brutality
And for those who are confused/want to become educated/should educate themselves before making a decision please read:
https://blacklivesmatter.com
YOU ARE READING
THERE IS WATER IN THE SUN
Poetrythe world is on the cusp of its next rebirth, won't you hold my hand to see what we've become? © -immortalitatis beautiful cover by the equally beautiful @hurtcopain
