Nicole Johnson

The sun is at its peak in the sky
Not sure what came of the time.

The crows created a nest in the trees,
While I wiped away the last semblance of hope from my cheeks.

Racing through hoops of unrest.
The rioting,
The looting,
Protestors chanting, “I can’t breathe. Don’t shoot!”

Deep inside, I am screaming.
Can anyone hear me?

My voice has reached new octaves
I’m the pianist slamming down the keys

I am not a threat
My cellphone is not a weapon
Stop! Don’t shoot me!

Rinse, repeat
Another brother is on tv
Another sister didn’t make it out of custody.

We wear masks to protect the public from a virus
Where is our protection from the government?

Were we not created equal?
Did Martin not take a stand on the bridge in Salem?
Have we not done enough to make America great?

We are suspicious.
We should be feared.
We don’t belong here.

Trapped in the twilight zone
Somewhere circa 1960
Why is my life not worth saving?

Why is this even a question?