Hollow tips enter full bodies, and empty them.
As the bullet rips the flesh, it’s also stripping the body from the soul.
The victim has passed; not only in presence, but through papers as another statistic.
The consequences of a coward,
we have to live with, walk these very same streets.
His mind has been brainwashed. They’ve purposely left out all the coloreds.
Holding the steal he feels like Iron-man, but without it he is weak.
Pulling that trigger is as easy as taking candy from a baby, but
does this coward know he just took this baby away from his mom.
My ego is fierce with poise full of culture.
I am tired of living through the peephole fighting not to be another victim of hatred.
I am tired of stray bullets finding a home within our own children.
Bullets may not have names on them, but they take innocence of the ones they enter.
I am tired of looking over my shoulder, because I have a permanent crook in my neck to go along with the knifes in my back.
Eyes follow me down the street.
Am I a crook because Im wearing my hood on my head? –Its cold
Am I a crook because I’m carrying candy? — I have a little sibling at home.
am I a crook because I’m holding a drink? — I am thirsty?
OR
Am I a crook because of the color of my skin?
The difference is they wear hoods that cover their heads.
You can still see their color, but that they may hide their faces in consciousness of shame.
Lacking Color…
A Color?
A “Color” everyone can see past except for them, because they still got that damn sheet over their heads.
I had a dream last night.
I marched to the most immense Bell with my hoodie on, and Granted justice for all Kings, Queens, & Martins.
I was tackled to the ground and handcuffed.
I would be easier to handle.
I didnt just get married, I am not a child (though someones), nor do I have one.
Everyone took a shot, but we’re taking the bullets for their
“Self Defense”.
Tell me — Do they call it self defense because we are strong, and will not helplessly tolerate oppression?
Before you pull the trigger; do you even second guess it?
Is there really so much hate that you become absent-minded?
Because of their loathing lack of souls,
Everyday I am reminded of the death of My Brothers.
Hughes, Dunbar, Walker, Angelou, Giovanni, Baldwin, Brooks, El-Shabazz, Shakur
They came to me and requested I speak for the people.
They sat me down, I listened, and though they only spoke to me in poetry I gained an inner-standing of each and every stanza they’ve written.
Having me stand tall with my head up.
They woke me up in my dream, God woke me up this morning, but I came alive in this poem.
Oscar Grant, I stand strong for my brother.
Sean Bell, I stand strong for my brother.
Trayvon Martin, I stand strong for my brother.
I Stand Strong for My Family.
I hope they hear my prayers while comforting each other, realizing they are not alone.
How long will it take for their families to heal?…
Until they’re all called home?
Murder is theft, and if these killer aren’t convicted of one, how about the other?
—
Instead of pouring this libation on the floor out of respect,
I’ll drink it because they didnt have the chance to.
Better, I will share the candy with our family; who didn’t have a chance to see them come home.
Unable tell them once last time they loved them.
I AM GRANT.
I AM BELL.
I AM MARTIN.
Beaten though Kings & Queens, and still
I AM JUSTICE,
I AM LOVE,
– I AM Vigilant Leighrick, Poetic Renegade
PROCLAMATION TRANSFORMATION 