A Stuttering Plea

My arms are heavy from holding you~

Why do you  
travel so
far, 
to find 
another person’s  
life  
when yours  
sits, 
rests, 
on shoulders  
the size of the world  
pieced 
into boulders? 

Why have you  
morphed  
your mind 
into a kingdom  
ruled  
by hatred  
for the people  
who  
have  
raised you 
gently, 
black  
man?  
When  
will you respect  
me?  

When will you  
stop 
grasping 
at thrones 
built  
on broken  
backs, 
forgetting  
the hands 
that  
braided 
your hair, 
the mouths  
that  
prayed your  
name into morning?  

When will you  
see  
your  
reflection  
in the ones you 
cast  
aside? 

Black  
man,
when  
will you respect  
me? 

---

{“Black man” is singular. I am not talking about all Black men; I am referring to a singular black man.}

Exist in the realms of possibility.

With something that could be called hope,

Trixie