blood red roses

[originally performed by two people, one girl and one guy]

black people getting killed every single day.

black americans getting killed every single day.

black americans getting killed by policemen every single day.

black americans getting killed by american policemen every single day.

black americans getting killed by american policemen every single day, on american streets.

 

you’re laughing?

or crying?

i can never really tell the difference;

your expressions are convoluted.

 

american men on american streets.

american blood on american streets.

american blood on american men.

american men on american streets,

american face down, american blood spread across american cheeks, dying

american on american streets.

american anthem can’t bring this

american on the brink of death off the brink of death.

american policemen think yes,

american policemen say no.

american soil mixed with american blood.

american flowers grown with

american blood from

american men beat by

american batons, owned by

american policemen, grow on

american soil, constricted by

american streets.

 

that man.

that fellow american.

that fellow black american.

that fellow american.

that man,

that man couldn’t breathe.

that man couldn’t breathe and you killed him.

 

he couldn’t breathe.

he couldn’t breathe,

and you couldn’t

listen.

and you recede.

and you proceed.

and you live life as it was.

and you don’t regret.

and you forget.

and you killed him.

and you killed him.

and you killed him.

and you might as well have killed him 9 times.

and you didn’t know, but he was a cat.

and you didn’t know, but cats pounce back.

 

americans just texted away on american cell phones as

americans died on american streets, just a little ways away in

america.

americans thought that you protected those

american streets.

americans thought that you protected those

americans you killed.

 

but now it's different.

americans no longer stay in place.

americans take to the streets and protest against hate.

americans no longer stay in place.

americans no longer stay in place when a fellow

american dies to american policemen.

 

all we taste is the sharp tang of blood,

but it’s okay, because

we sleep,

and it's uncomfortable.

and they help us sleep.

and they never asked for much.

and all they wanted was to sleep and live like the rest of us.

 

too bad you'll never hear any of it.

too bad they're dead.

too bad they're dead because of you.

 

when the sirens flashed,

[blue, red, white, piercing through the pitch black sky]

there appeared waterfalls of blood

there appeared blood red brick walls

there appeared water gushing out dams,

and there appeared blood red roses,

“HANDS UP”

and hands fly up,

and guns point up,

up,

up,

and then I know.

I am not a damned american.

I am not an american,

I am not an american.

but I care about

americans.

 

but let us tell you.

you’re no hotshot.

but your shot was what killed him.

you’re no hero.

but you sure felt like one.

you’re no american.

but you killed one.

This poem is about: 
My country

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