To my brothers and sisters 

 

If I should die at the hand of police brutality know that I was loved , know that I was given shelter in the warmth of your embrace . Know that I was given nourishment in the knowledge of your words and know that I was given rest long before they hung me up like 60s fashion in a Forest . 

 

If I should die at the hands of police brutality do not riot for me , do not burn down your own buildings, shoplift from your neighbors stores or defecate on public property . We need to learn to stop stealing the future from our children . 

 

Do not be silent , don't hashtag me or turn my name into another name on the bottom of a list . I am not advocating your petition . Do not cry for me , do not mourn me in an attempt to remember the torture I endured . My death doesn't need a news anchor or a carefully written essay . My death was another kinky haired curse portrayed as an ivory noose. I was choking, but my suffocation doesn't need any air time on the radio.

 

This is not my auto biography and you are not allowed to pilot the end of life like an episode of some black girls soap opera. 

 

I am not asking you to forget me or to allow my existence to remain obsolete . I want you to know my name .  But you're going to do it in a way that these people don't get the opportunity to say 'I told you so' or ' great another one'

 

I don't want t shirts or songs I want poems , news paper articles , news paper headlines . Small doodles in a notebook . Say my name like it's a sin and you're in church say it like it's the worst kept secret and every time you hear it it's like the first time . 

 

Wear it on your sleeve , pour it into a speech tournament or Poerty slam , use my name for your agenda . Win this competition . Spread it around the hallways of your high school like a rumor even the teachers want to talk about , say it in your sleep in your dreams in your nightmares in the waking hours and fleeting moments . Let your parents hear it , let them tell they're friends over tea and call of duty , let your siblings hear it through the door like im some kind of wicked thing . Let them pass it on to the other girls mom at the next PTA meeting . Just don't stop speaking . You don't have to yell to be heard , most people are more concerned with what you arent willing to say in public . 

 

Let my name be the one that hangs in the room like strange fruit from a Papblo tree . Let my name me the one that cracks into backs like lighting ,

 

Violence is not what this community needs more of .

We need activists not anarchists 

We need preachers and poets not pyromaniacs 

 

We need compassion in light of all the cruelty we need you to be authors , and write the stories of the ones who couldn't carry the weight of the pen any more

 

We need you .

 

Because If I should die at the hand of police brutality you should know that I was loved , know that I was given shelter in the warmth of your embrace . Know that I was given nourishment in the knowledge of your words and know that I was given rest long before they hung me up by my neck like 2018 fashion in a Forest .