Don’t say their names…

For White America: Your god isn’t ours…

Are we children of a lesser or greater god? Is our structure different to cushion the blows of oppressors?

Does the detangling session that strengthens and rejuvenates — coil the tips of our anger to soothe us?

Does the thickness of being — that warrants stares and cares with added glares of repurposing away the downpour of dismay — swirl the puffs hovering above?

Can the blackest eye detect the countless mercies of a discovered street corner with the absence of stained sorrow?

Can your god be our God in the vastness and vacuum of civilized brutality.

Can the abruptness of delight into the shadows of despair — provide the shield that darkens and evacuates the hope for assimilation?

Can prayers in a hut made out of human flesh heat the songs of praise that deafen the fields in the aftermath of windy silence.

How long before the sacrifice at the alter awakens to collect the debt of everlasting life?

Not long.

We, the crucibles of this United States, declare the separation of Truth and truth complete.

So, help you God.

Police brutality isn’t reactivated each time a Black person’s death is unjustified. It’s a reality that we live with. Even if it’s not yours.

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