Sadness starts to reside in my heart

When I see another shooting on the news.

When I hear of another body hitting the ground

Without a chance of giving that ground life,

Instead of death.

You know who I’m talking about;


Black boy.

Black girl.

Black man.

Black woman.

Black bullets turned red with the blood of their youth.

Black people turned into black bodies turned into

Black headlines turned into

Black stories turned into

Black poems turned into

Black Anger.



The sadness that resides in my heart

Is turning into fear.

And how can I not fear

When those who look like me

My mom,

And my brother,

Are getting shot with the justice of ignorance.


Oh, you don’t think justice is ignorant?

See, ignorance is bliss

And since our lives aren’t blissful,

Because of the sadness and fear that resides in our hearts then,


Maybe justice isn’t ignorant.

Instead, it chooses to ignore.

I say that because

Justice will be blind to the facts

Because prejudice is just another pair of shades they put on.

Justice will be deaf to the cries of those trying to live.

I guess, trying to live must not be loud enough anymore.


They would rather us try to die.


That is why the fear and the sadness that resides in my heart,

Is now turning into anger.

And it’s crazy because this seems like a fairytale.

Because now a cellphone symbolizes a gun,

Skittles are now weapons,

Headphones are now bullets,

Toy guns are now real,

And missed turn signals can now constitute murder.

Do you see the fairytale we are living in?

Well to be completely honest,

If your skin color is as dark as mine,

And your heart contains fear, sadness, and anger,

Then this is not your fairy tale.

It is theirs.

Who am I talking about?

I am talking about those who believe in the ignoring justice.

Who think about the black boy in the hoodie

Without a degree in his hand.

Without his now,

Fatherless child.

Without his now,

Sonless mother.

Without his now,

Body less soul,

Searching for the bullet stained with his crimson youth

Along the ashes of those who have been stained themselves.


You probably wonder what their cries are?

Well I will tell you now:


Stop killing our youth.

Stop killing our fathers.

Stop killing our mothers.

Stop killing our children.

Stop killing our youth.

Stop killing out youth.

Stop killing our youth.

Stop killing our youth,

Please for God,


Stop killing us.


While I see these things.

And cry their tears

I keep telling myself,

“I want to love those around as Jesus loves.”

But how can I love you,

When your bullet seems to love me more.






This poem is about: 
My community


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741