say it three times & it'll appear in your hands
I wrote this poem because I just can’t watch more videos of Black bodies being murdered and villainized by the police state. His body received 60 shots and the police handcuffed his dead carcass. There is no soul in this place. There is no soul
made aware are we of obsidian rocks on our throats lustred rage, suppressing our capacity to live well tomorrow I will be outraged once again verily still, we can't talk of hurt
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