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

Photography is the visionary that perceives the world in multiple ways. 

The unrecognizable perceptions with great intentions

Blurred images; that focus, is depended on the world’s compelled conventions. 

Creativity and complexity is its flaws yet beautiful imperfect perfections 

Its watermark is the wise’s and deranged’s misconceptions 

Editing and filters are the prisoned innovations in this dark detention 

Black and white fill this image with unrealistic realities to what will grab the world’s attention.

san • i • ty /sanedē/ ~ n.

1. The emotional state; of comfortability once-loving one’s self.

2. That arrives after a raging storm eases its way into the afterglow of tomorrow’s graces: this active madness that’s patient/ This silent voice that begs to be heard through incoherent precise statements/ This uncertainty of change that weighs the pockets of hope/ Late night prayers in hopes the Lord hears me/ Unforgivably forgivable for my household has become those of my enemies/ This tree of life that branches the burdens of stress and strife: rejuvenates its roots in the sanctuary of serenities

Thanks for joining me!

This is simply me expressing and sharing my personal poetry and thoughts.