basseyworld:

I wrote this the day Diallo’s murderers went free. I think of it every single time something like this occurs. I think about how so few details change. I think about how I worry about the men in my life. I think about how Every year there is a story. The names change. The circumstances change. The story is the same. It always ends with an unarmed black body dead while the white hand that murdered him roams free. People ask me why I don’t write about it each time it happens. It’s because I would never stop writing.  

I’m remembering this today because I want Justice for Trayvon Martin like I wanted justice for Amadou Diallo like I wanted justice for Oscar Grant and so on and so tragically forth… 

Untitled: For Kadiatou Diallo (Amadou Diallo’s mother)

Welcome to the land of the soul less
Here, no souls rest
Black equal target for bullets
And we march to mourn another murdered
In silence
Where do our screams go? 

Welcome to the place where dreams dry
And a mother cry’s for her son

On foreign soils

She did not send him here to die
Would not have let him come here
Had she known
So who will hold her hand?
Stroke her face?
Fill that hole of empty baby space
41 times
Who will acquit her of her grief?

Welcome to the place where
Black loses life on urban streets
Cops cried say begged him not to die
Defense say, “he fit the profile”
Righteous say, “You never should have drawn gun anyway”
You never should have trapped, sun, anyway
What are we still doing here, anyway?
Still jury say murder is justified and cops win right to life
While a brother is still without his. 

So, welcome to the place where a black face asks
Who will be next
And a white one answers, 
Not I
Welcome to the place that justice forgot
Welcome to the place that fights no battles for the have nots
Welcome to the land where our blood runs
Where man sets sun
Where we trespass
Where we come last
Where we suspect 
By those supposed to serve and protect
Welcome to the place where official open
Season has been called on all civilians
Welcome to a life of clipped wings
European dreams will cut your life short
Our black boys become blood sport
There is no freedom song being sung here
No place for change here 
This is not a stage just for rage here
It’s just confusion here
It’s just frustration here
So welcome to a life of false hope
And no uniform ever pays
So welcome to my last days of trusting blue
Welcome to New York City

(can I help you?) 

“But had me believing it was always something that I’d done
But I don’t wanna live that way
Reading into every word you say
You said that you could let it go
And I wouldn’t catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know”

Gotye- Somebody That I Used To Know feat. Kimbra

13 year old Jada Williams persecuted by Rochester City School District over her essay on Frederick Douglas