Built on backs
of our black brothers and sisters
we saw their welts
and working under the sweltering sun,
we saw them treated
more like cattle than human,
put up for exhibition,
Where along the way did we determine that they are not a person?
we grow up seeing the horrors
committed against them
because we are so accustomed to seeing the persecuted always fleeing.
We listen to their music and watch them throw ball.
Take part in their choosings
and when it's time to stand by them
it once again becomes: not our problem, not our place
They aren't fighting for fame or for money,
they want solidarity.
To listen when they say they just want,
to sit at the table that everyone else is talking about.
To believe them when they say
my people are alone
and we live in a different world where
the grass grows differently beneath our feet.
They simply want us to see,
That their skin bleeds when it's cut
and their hair gets wet in the rain
and that they too feel pain
just the same as you and as me.