Another black man dead, anger and grief,

desperate people seeking relief.

Division grows stronger, fingers are pointed.

Blame is placed, things are disjointed.

Voices grow louder, a battlefield of hashtags.

They say, “All lives matter! Any death is a waste.”

 

Those dead men keep rolling through my head.

Black Lives Matter should not be misread.

If all lives mattered we would not be where we are.

You can ignore the cut, but you can’t ignore the scar.

 

Did all lives matter when black lives were enslaved?

Did all lives matter when lynchings brought them to the grave?

Did all lives matter when forefathers forced women with rape?

Did all lives matter when killings were caught on tape?

 

All lives matter? Some sure seem to matter more.

 

Are your sons in danger going to the store? Must you coach them a bit before?

Imagine your son, leaving to get Skittles,

never making it home, body with bullets riddled.

Did you warn your kids, when they turned 16,

not to text and drive, fearing a bloody scene?

Did you see the mother, the one next-door, coaching her son even more?

Teaching him to shrink himself and make himself less,

“Don’t alarm the angry officer, son, and cause some distress.”

 

All lives matter? Some sure seem to matter more.

 

Do you know in your head

your cell phone won’t make you dead?

Are you confident in your open carry,

a white man with a gun not so scary?

 

But the laws that apply to you and I can change for them in the blink of an eye.

We can live freely with peace within,

but what about our brothers and sisters with melanin-skin?

 

All lives matter? Some sure seem to matter more.