For content, the algorithm scream silently
Showing us more while giving us less
It cannot be, the timeline wails
While we pity people we do not know
While we forget ourselves
Who are we to forgive?
While we forgive ourselves
Who are we to forget?
Who have we forgotten?
Don’t worry my dear, you didn’t know
You say a truth wrapped in snide shades of comfort…
Was it Till? Poor Emmett, they still put bullet holes in the sign that bears his name
Was it King? Rodney, his death a spectacle, a catastrophe on live tv
Did you think of Corrie? Rachel, a girl so brave they crushed her?
Have you forgiven yourself?
Akleh, Shireen, a purveyor of truth, a face painted with pride on prison walls we call Gaza.
Was it fine, when it was Brown? Poor Michael, they convinced us his execution though public was not a life lost, a criminal they said, they saved us, they decreed.
That ache…
No different than Floyd, George, his crime existing while black, his skin forever marred with cement upon his cheek,
in Death
Do you grieve their death?
Have you forgiven yourself, yet?
Rice, Tamir, the taste of skittles boycotted as they turned to ash upon my lips.
Rajab, Hind, they made cinema on our horror, her murderer still walks free.
Amo Khalid, they spent lifetimes making us fear his features, now we see him as the face of love.
How does that forgiveness taste?
Do your teeth ache at the tender sweetness of relief when you forget their names?
Does the coldness of your pillow feel kinder,
Your eyes close easier,
The knowledge that you merely had to witness,
Never do,
No, just forgive yourself my darling.
How is the forgiving coming along?
Alreer, Refaat, poetry has lost its sweetest voice, kite strings I yearn to see, a sun beam blinds me.
Gonzalez, Silverio, a man, a human, a person, a spirit, what of his skin made him a threat? Was it that it held a smile of a man loved?
Oh how our grief has been monopolized,
capitalized,
catastrophized into attention
Our backs, our shoulders, our asses marred with sloth such sin,
We feel the ache
Muscles atrophied with disuse
We lament the toil,
The way it curls in our joints
A spring, taut, a searing epiphany
And with it brings no clarity
Because we do not loop up
We do not look away
We call it witnessing and yet…
Our grieving has been monopolized
We see nothing
We are a collective of broken souls
We do not fit!
We are a collection of parts
We do not fit!
We are a collection of pieces
We do not fit!
We do not fit, we shriek into the night
Cold air causing the pain to hang in the stars,
Our grieving has been monopolized
Been compartmentalized
Been curated
Crafted
Narrated
Our grieving has been stolen
A thief in the night has come
And with them they took our purpose
The question, they tell us lies when we feign truth
We feel the answer
In our bones
The aching knowledge, years, decades, centuries, lifetimes
In the making,
In the murdering.
It wasn’t her,
It wasn’t about her
Good, old my darling Good Girl Renee,
It was about the collective of bodies she joins
How we feel them lie under our feet
And yet we stand
Idle
So idle
So interminably idle
She joined the legions of those who were slain before her
We scream and she isn’t the impetus
She is the bell tolling
And yet
And yet
And yet, we sigh
Be Peaceful!
Be Calm!
We will only kill you if you resist!
We will only shame you in your death
We will create a story crafted of lies
We will only kill you if you do not comply!
Our bodies know
Our bodies, they know
They are revolting against us
Because we do not revolt against that which is revolting to us
They shame us
They ache in us
Bones wrapping around tortured truths
We sit on thrones made of blood and sorrow
We silently pray that they look the other way
Our grieving has been monopolized
Our action has been turned into silence
Our response has been made performance
Our performance has been made a farce
How much death
How much is found in death?
How must we allow this death?
How much blood needs to pour from the microphone of your screen
Into your hands
Down your shirt sleeves
Until you drown in the pool it makes?
Don’t worry my dears
The algorithm will comfort you with similar fears
And silence you into solace
The comfort
The shame
The shame in our comfort
Our grieving has been monopolized
And we sold ourselves so cheaply
May our ancestors, our brothers, sisters, our community members, and all the shades of the slain before us raise with us.
For if we do not
We will join them one way or another,
For our grieving has been monopolized
And in so, our living has been made forfeit.
"..to hv lived in the corrupt world, standing alone. its almost impossible to succeed in what u believed in. but even if u failed n u die trying n u died without the stain of the corrupt, n u hv gave yr best. then believe me when i said, u r the victor in this game.." -...pejangger@sleeplessinsentul
Reading this breaks me and repairs me in a way! I hope this sense of shame and despair can reach those who hold the triggers and have their boots on our necks. Perhaps that's asking for too much.
"..to hv lived in the corrupt world, standing alone. its almost impossible to succeed in what u believed in. but even if u failed n u die trying n u died without the stain of the corrupt, n u hv gave yr best. then believe me when i said, u r the victor in this game.." -...pejangger@sleeplessinsentul
Reading this breaks me and repairs me in a way! I hope this sense of shame and despair can reach those who hold the triggers and have their boots on our necks. Perhaps that's asking for too much.