End of Me

Why as Africa Americans do we become scaredwhen we see those lights flashing red and blue,Why as people of color do we get the darker side of you,assigned to serve and protect but who do we callwhen we need protection from the man in blue.Why does it have to be the enemy of colorWe just want the truth,Killing more than you seize While our hands are up screaming don’t shoot,Instead of your handcuffs,your razor,your baton at the very least, It is your gun that you are so quick to squeeze  I would prefer tight metal cuffed around my wrist Than a bullet be the End of Me. 

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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