Asphyxiation (Our Lives Matter)

I can’t breathe.

In an open space with air all around

Yet, I can’t breathe.

Can’t inhale or exhale –

Unless they give permission.

To kill me.

Choke holds and

Cold-blooded murder.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Because I was suspect.

For my Black, my Brown skin.

For seeking help.

For minding my own business.

In this world where my biggest sin

Is being.

That’s all. Just being.

Being Black.

Being Brown.

Being Brave.

Being Bold.

Enough to say

“You don’t own me!”

Bold enough to ask

“Can you help me?”

Bold enough to plead.

“I can’t breathe.”

“I can’t breathe.”

“I CAN’T BREATHE.”

And they’re killing me.

With my hands raised

Open palms

I’m not greeted with open arms.

I’m suspect.

Slayed in the streets,

And on porches.

And in neighborhoods.

In parks.

In public spaces.

Making a mockery of me.

Bodies uncovered for all to see.

For they aim to let us know

That I won’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

Unless permission is given to me.

But I’m villainized for reacting

To the repeated cries.

They say I should march.

And I should be peaceful.

And I should make a difference.

In a calm way.

But I can’t breathe.

I can’t fucking breathe.

And they want me…

To trust that I’ll be free.

Trust that this system will protect me.

Trust that they’ll let me breathe.

And I don’t.

I don’t trust that I’ll ever be able to breathe.

So I’m fighting.

For air.

And I apologize if my methods

Don’t suit.

But they match the madness.

For when you can’t breathe

And you’re unsure that they won’t shoot

Fight is a natural response.

When my words, my cries, my pleas

Have fallen on deaf ears

How am I expected to breathe?

How am I expected to bring peace?

When peace is not afforded to me…

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe.

I want peace.

I want to breathe…

F R E E L Y.

 

 

 

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