Lose power Get smaller A thought completely erased No respect Hate the game Man, I wish I never played A word on a page A law falsely made Hope for the future Don’t trust the innocent name A book of rights That needs to be rewritten By people of color… Cultures of time… livers of “umm… real life.” A book of rights That needs to be rewritten And maybe this time No woman’s tongue will be bitten Harder than our sins That we still wait to be forgiven For- bidden fruit on the curb adjacent to the neighbors youngest girl Probably shot Guns cocked Drew by a red dot Pinpointed by her skin One second, she forgot She was black Or woman Or in the working class Or human. So the little old book that poison the minds of the people who govern the States is decaying. It’s rotten. Soiled in too many ways to try to salvage And save what? The beaten and buried bodies of our brothers they left bleeding in the street? They took claim of the woman’s uterus faster than mind and body could prepare to meet. Those books of rights That they no longer feel the need to recite is no longer decaying. It’s dead. Like all of the hashtags replaying in my head.