Stop Now

I am screaming in terror . . .
in rage . . .
stray bullets . . .
pretty little baby girls . . .
innocent little boys . . . just . . .
just playing in the park . . .
now both are dead . . .
just little pick ninnies . . .
chattel for the plantation . . .
a tax write off . . .
and pennies in the pockets . . .
of the undertaker . . .
give the mammy a pill . . .
to treat the post traumatic stress . . .
because they lie, they lie . . .
all lives don’t matter . . .
no matter how many tears cry . . .
lets blind fold the judge . . .
blind fold the jury . . .
lets see if justice . . .
will be just when blind . . .
I’m still screaming in terror . . .
in rage . . .
senseless death . . .
heartless . . .
soulless beings . . .
darkness haunting . . .
innocent people marching . . .
and angry people looting . . .
while privilege people incite riots . . .
talk about a sit down . . .
but the billy clubs still be wielding . . .
jolts of electricity still flaming . . .
my rage is screaming . . .
with terror . . .
do you hear . . .
do you care . . .
it’s my flesh and blood . . .
falling to his knees . . .
his eyes rolling . . .
to the back of his head . . .
now he’s filled with embalming fluid . . .
her big ass and natural hair . . .
you ridicule . . .
call it ugly in the day light . . .
but at night . . .
you sneak around . . .
and sniff her ass . . .
she don’t want him . . .
she wants you . . .
to protect her . . .
all 6’5″ of you . . .
your bulging and shiny . . .
black muscular arms . . .
your sweet, deep, and raspy voice . . .
but they, they cut off your balls . . .
and made me the head of the house hold . . .
as long as you were gone . . .
they give me relief . . .
welfare, food stamps . . .
I give them access to all . . .
my personal business . . .
no knock warrant . . .
left grandma dead . . .
oops they say . . .
it’s the wrong apartment . . .
no respect . . .
no one cares . . .
oh but I scream in terror . . .
in rage . . .
my video playing boy . . .
afraid to go out . . .
to run . . .
to play in the fresh air . . .
he’s tall for his age . . .
he wears hoodies . . .
he puts his purchases in his pocket . . .
he’s a suspect, stop him . . .
shoot him if he runs . . .
beat him if he puts  his hands up . . .
tase him while he lays broken . . .
he is my baby boy . . .
he wants to play . . .
but you get to go home . . .
to your baby boy . . .
cause you walk away from murder . . .
free and clear . . .
my baby I scream . . .
my baby is disposable . . .
I scream in terror . . .
I scream in rage to pierce your ears . . .

© Kimberly Wilhelmina Floria 12/31/15

I’ve been at my daughter since Sunday, the last few days have been pre-scheduled. I’m going to a poetry reading tonight. I’m considering reading the above poem or

Emotional Deficiency you can read it here

If you’re in the Brooklyn, NY area come check it out.  I don’t know if I’ll get on the list or not but if I do great.

at 8 PM – 10 PM

Brooklyn Colony – Breuckelen Colony

The above poem is included in my book Pages of Pain which in honor of Mother’s Day and lupus Awareness Month is available free on kindle. Today is the last day it will  be available for free.  Please get a copy. Thanks for your support.

16 thoughts on “Stop Now

  1. someone cares
    few dare
    eagles fly
    turkeys do not
    life is hard
    blood sweat tears
    fears
    i like you have been assailed
    by the mere fact of being , literally
    my mother s son
    one to their two
    penis to their vagina
    middle class
    manics
    emotional drama
    mechanics
    i cry with
    you for the loss
    the cost
    the waste
    of life
    so damn young!

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