The Realization

We put on the costumes

tryin’ to fit

suburban hipster shit

yo, look at me I can code switch!

Is that well enough for you, Massa?

“You don’t fit here

You don’t fit no where but into that caricature

Nigger, sit

in that damn box,

feels good to me

    IF

I think about it.”

Groom these little boys to tone that shit down

hair, voice, hands in pockets, smile.

Hands on the wheel.  

‘Don’t be back talkin’ to that poooolice officer now ya hear?’

might wind up dead in the grave.  

Trayvon will tell you

when you get there.

Learn it all.

Take it in.

Buck against.

Fall asleep

Exhausted.

Push through

    Realize

     it was true ALL along?

Yo ass is expendable.

All the n*ggers.

Expendable names

Expendable memories.

Expendable histories.

Expendable life.

Expendable death.

Put on that phuckin’ costume

do yo song and dance

pretend they care

When it hits you, get comfy in that damn box,

cuz yo ass is never gettin’ out.

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#31Days