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One in Four, One in a Thousand

*in 2020, one in four black women experienced attempted or completed rape while one in every thousand black men were assaulted by police.*

By SaMya Overall Published 3 years ago 1 min read
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One in Four, One in a Thousand
Photo by Jessica Felicio on Unsplash

The moon was a spotlight in a blackened sky,

A late night at the office,

a crisp wind blew my jacket

just past my fingers as I grasped it close.

Smooth metal cool between the digits,

like knives.

Like knives,

the blue and red lights pierce my eyes

My earthy hands raise on instinct

I advert my gaze as he steps out.

Egyptian blue uniform, glassy pistol

with a brown face in the reflection

I see my brown face in the reflection of his gun,

His porcelain grip marks my arm, purple and dark,

a reminder of who I belonged to.

Hey chocolate princess, you workin’ those jeans

Yellow teeth pulled in a crooked smile

The only light in a darkened street.

The only light in the dark street

was the eggshell headlights of a 7 Toyota Corolla.

as it crept closer then rolled away

Bricks on my spine, vermillion blood stains

the concrete, hands pinned behind my back

Like a slave

Stop resisting or I swear to God I’ll shoot

Stop resisting or I swear to God I’ll shoot

My cloudy crown mats against my scalp as

icy sweat slides down my face like beads.

His shadow lurks in my peripheral so faint

I question my sanity

My shoulders kiss the tips of my ears

Enamel raw.

My enamel is raw when he finally pulls me up

like a disobedient dog —

You’re free to go, he chuckles under his breath.

I bare my teeth,

invisible foam bubbles from my sangria gums.

The second is cautious,

hides in the flickering lights of lined lamp posts.

The third is bolder,

ivory face brilliant in unmarked Chryslers.

Four and five: harmless on paper,

a whistle here, a wandering eye, an unrequested wink.

Six fires his gun twice —

grazes past my ribcage,

though my heart stops anyway.

You can lead a horse to water,

But you cannot force it to drink.

Pushing pleas like uphill boulders on ears

that refuse to understand

Not all men is like firing a stray bullet in a crowd,

striking one in the back,

and with a laugh

hoping for a better shot next time.

Not all officers is like watching your brother

lead the drunk blond girl up the stairs like an

anesthetized puppy

and applauding as one does.

performance poetry
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About the Creator

SaMya Overall

Fiction, poetry, and creative non-fiction writer with a love for cliche tropes reimagined in a new way.

For more works: https://www.minialternaterealities.com

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