I apologize that I haven’t witnessed a black man’s death first hand
Or haven’t reported on privileged cops committing unrighteous sins.
See I’ve grown restless, of black communities being tested.
Black boys are prone to be reckless;
depressed, dangerous, and misdirected.
Born with a sun-kissed complexion that’s a societal infection.
I apologize that I haven’t gotten pulled over for driving while black.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not impacted.
I didn’t know I needed a required resume on the experiences of my blackness.
Police brutality genres are increasing in financial vastness.
Would I have enough experience if I said I let a black man paint his fears on my canvas?
Yeah, I’m emotionally and spiritually attached.
I nurtured a black king back to life in my lap.
I have 20 years of first-hand experience in being black.
I don’t have to picture myself in that.
I apologize that I haven’t got killed walking down the street with a hoodie over my head and skittles in my pocket.
While a random white man sits on his porch with a loaded Glock; on the account of a black kid minding their business, just to cock it.
Our deaths won’t reign supreme until bullets repel off the melanin of a black prophet.
I apologize that I’m only a young black woman, with a dollar and a dream to break chains and flip change of unrealistic realities.
Breaking generational curses of black family tragedies.
With unconventional ideas of how to educate the youth mentalities.
I apologize that I’m so unapologetic, but revolutionary black women don’t write poetic filtered discretions
KJ’s Poetry 