Black Blood

Today, I want to share this poem that I wrote in response to the death and murder of Michael Brown. He was killed in 2014, but I think that it is important that we never forget.

Black Blood

They say I lay there for four hours

In a puddle of black blood

To me, it felt like minutes, seconds

 

There will never be enough time

For me to comprehend

What happened, why it happened

 

It was my fault for being there

I was wrong for being a black man

And for the black blood running through my veins

 

Was I wrong for the black blood

That sunk into the asphalt

Like tears into a pillow

 

Was I wrong for the nauseating stench

Like rotting iron

That hovered in the air for four hours

 

Blood so dark and flowing

It spilled from my head like water

Glistening and purple in the pale, constant sunlight

 

It tried to run, a part of me almost free

But it stuck to the concrete

Drowning in defeat

 

It sat for hours, turning thick like syrup

Getting blacker by the moment

Too black for anyone to care

 

I try to imagine how it must have felt

When the only part left of me

Was rinsed from the street with water

 

How it felt when the cold water

Met my hot, angry blood

And the two became one

 

Maybe the drops of black blood

Seeped into the cracks of the street

Forever hidden away like the sins of injustice

 

Maybe my name will go down in history

With the others

Who were martyred for having black blood

 

Or maybe it was my fault.

 

They say the neighbors turned in horror

Away from my dying body

That begged for mercy in their streets

 

The image was so graphic

real black man

Perishing just yards away

 

A picture that will remain forever

No one will remember who I was

Or who I wanted to be

 

When time has passed

All that the neighbors will remember

is Brown’s black blood

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