poem, poetry, Uncategorized

Black Tie

This is my life.

How ironic,

That I am sitting in a living room feeling everything but alive.

I am busy

Watering plants that have died

Leaving seeds with no guide

On how to grow old.


I want to grow old.

Between rock and hard place

Grew the wild life of my generation.

With No hesitation

They cut us down like weeds and,

We haven’t felt freedom

since the days we were born.

We let go

but there are claw marks

on America’s back from

Us holding on for so long.

Where did we go wrong?

You want our words, our culture,

our songs….

I remember the day when sirens started to sound different.

When my uncle sat me down

and said “listen.”.

Being a Christian won’t save you

And I know that I raised you

To be true to yourself.

But, wear your seat belt.

Abide by the law,

Never move too fast,

Don’t let them say a gun is what they saw.

You have to know,

that you are rare.

That you have to take care

Of your brothers and sisters.

That you will develop blisters

From running away from what you fear most;


Because no man is kind

to your breed here

and showing fear here

Will have them saying that you’re an animal.

That you deserved slaughtered.

They don’t want you live life unbothered.

They want you to grow up father-less,

And have no common sense,

So that the cycle can repeat and rinse

Our people out of America’s whirlpool.

I want more.

I want to be sure

That I can go to sleep knowing my loved ones will be okay

When I wake up the next day.

And if you hear this and say

Anything outlandish

Then you are problem.

You are the demon.

You are the curse.

You are the reason that my brother lays in a hearse.

I can’t wait for the day that our roles will be reversed.

So you can feel this pain,

and this hurt.

What will you do then?

            By Tevin J. Reese

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