Are we full yet?
Have we been filled to the brim,
With the rotting corpses of black bodies,
Whose lives were sucked from them,
By authoritative hands?
Has the last sneaker been lodged in our throats,
Or is it more we we can stand?

How many times does white supremacy,
Have to make itself evident before we believe it?
Maybe when white women and children,
Pull out the picnic baskets from their attics,
To sit beneath motionless black bodies,
Swaying from trees like ornaments,
As The scent of strange fruit cleanses their palettes. 
When viral videos return to postcards we will see. 

Then we will understand.
Revolution is sometimes written in the permanent ink of blood. 
We have shared our due for far too long. 
I'm talking Action 
Marching is nice but it's passive
Spreading the word is good
But we need more to happen
Everyone waiting for the first person to move 
That first person may have to be you

It's time for them to catch up. 
They don't know pain. 
Soulless people can't feel
But their pockets hurt
Do not finance the oppressors
And watch them burn.