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.