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They don't see me

But they will hear me

By Chris RicksPublished 2 years ago 2 min read
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They don't see me
Photo by LOGAN WEAVER on Unsplash

It’s not over until you see the rainbow, but can you stand the rain though. The best thing done for man was giving him a woman to make him feel human. But what about you man? Are you a hue man? We’re the ones who got locked in cages like a zoo man. Back in the days we wore shackles and chains, but the more we changed, the more we stayed the same. They cut the mane, then washed the brain, now we wear shackles and chains for fun. Curse each other’s names because our hue isn’t the same. It’s silly to blame each other for our misery and pain, our blood stains the grounds where our brothers are slain. Please believe me this isn’t easy. What you see on TV doesn’t appease me. Police they see me, I tell them be easy, but they mock and tease me, then call me lazy, they all want me to fall to a crawl to shoot or tase me. Now my hands are up, then locked in cuffs, I’m down on my stomach, they won’t let me come up. I can’t breathe but they won’t let up. Knees on my neck, face down on the deck, please give me a sec. I deserve some respect. I call out for my mother, please watch over my brothers. My life is slipping away, I don’t have another. I feel the pain getting stronger, I can’t take this any longer. My little sister captures the drama on her cellphone camera. Load it up to social media, now my Face Book(ed) like Expedia. Remember me. Don’t let there be another me, my life is a tragedy, it didn’t really have to be. There is a light at the end of my path, life washed away all my deeds like a bath. Turn the other cheek to conceal my wrath, and you made me a statistic like a graph. My murderer had his day, to hear what the people had to say, the scene ended like a play, and he lives on another day. My soul’s in purgatory, until I see glory, everyone will hear me , and they all say surely, we all know the story, there will be no more me. Until there is another me, and another, or my brother, mother, it doesn’t bother me. They say our Protest is grotesque, it’s not worth it. No matter what our vote is, it won’t change the context, who they want to con next. Our votes don’t count unless it’s read (red). But for my votes they will put shots to your head. All of my concerns got bleeped out when voting in the deep south. Did you peep how, they passed those laws to keep out, all the voters of a certain complexion, I feel there’s a certain connection, they won’t let us stand up like erection so they claim we rigged the election. Smoke and mirrors, watch the deception because it was here from the beginning like conception. What’s the big lesson?

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Chris Ricks

Father, writer, activist, motivational speaker. God first. Follow me IG: @chrisricksauthor Twitter: @chrisricks FB: facebook.com/chrisrickshttps://linktr.ee/chrisricksauthor

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