Black Ink

Sometimes we treat dead bodies better than living ones
But its not the same for me
Because my life has been filled with gunshots from the people who are meant to protect me
And now that im laying on the cold hard cement
The only acknowledgement i'll get is from the people who actually loved me
Yeah i'll show up in the news but not like how I would want it to be
Because i'm just a boy from the ghetto
And my worth is as much as that
My mama will scream out "Why?"
Begging on her knees
And I'll realize then that my physical activity was running from the people who tried to tear me down thinking I was a thug
Not realizing I am a boy filled with poetry that grazes my lips like a knife driving into me
Blooming like a corsage in my chest
The red spills with my black skin that isn't considered beautiful unless its lightskin
Because then i'd have a part of me thats white as the moon and i guess to you i deserve to live a little more
But what you don't realize is that the moon wouldn't shine without the darkness and I am that darkness
But now everything is dark and the only thing thats white is the back of the newspaper where black ink spills the little info of how I died but its brief info because of the white person who shot me
To you I may be a little black boy
Who was probably doing drugs
But I am more than what my skin colour is and I am more than what you will ever be
Because I was a black boy who fell in love with poetry and will write "why?" With my blood on the cold hard concrete

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Our world

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