Charleston
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“He had a mental illness”
There’s stillness in the air
You don’t even know his name
All your excuses are the same
Where are the SWAT teams?
Why aren’t police bursting at the scene?
I am crumpled.
I am tumbling
through a busy street-
not lifted by this wind
but dragged.
I am breathing.
I am lucky
the paper bag is about
I've been told that the world is not rainbows and sunshine.
That's fine.
But what is it do you want this world to be?
Because everything in this world is the same:
Why is there more hatred than love
Why do I not see help from above
Why are we viewed as despicable punks
Why do they only put us in cuffs?
Why do I see a racial divide
I am a high-class Charlestonian.
Reside in a mansion right down the street,
you know the name, Trad House.
Famous in all its history, my priceless humble abode.
