Get Out Kanye

May we please take a moment of silence to pray for Kanye.

This serman will have uses of me saying the word nigga.

Episodes of my black, overpowering my conscious state of mind.

See when I say pray for Kanye, I mean remind that nigga that he's from the south side.

That there are kids that used his music like battle hymns, and wore his lyrics on their bodies like armor.

Someone please get Kanye.

Tell him that his mouth is being laced with the white man's cyanide.

He's poisoning the water in Chicago, in Flint, in Montgomery, in Compton, in Detroit.

Tell him that there are black bodies that still line the bottom of the Atlantic ocean.

Tell him that there are black boys that dream of being free, that line the fields of Meridian, Mississippi.

Someone tell this nigga, that niggas still dream about not being another toe tagged body bag. That dream of this Massa in the White House not trying to up the price tags on another black boys body bag as if they still get entertain value from our dead.

Someone let Kanye know, that we still shine because they hate us, floss 'cause they degrade us. We tryna buy back our 40 acres of freedom turned into graveyards.

Someone tell Kanye, that I saw the old Kanye floating somewhere in the river next to Emmett Till.

Being drug off of the bus with Rosa, marching to Washington with Jesus, being shot in the head with Martin Luther King and now white kids flaunt the bullet as jewelry around their necks and stores put it at the front of aisles labeled, "Yeezus Piece."

Tell him that Mississippi is burning, that the church in Birmingham Alabama is built on the bodies of young girls that resemble his daughter's complexion.

That we STILL/ stand on corners waiting on buses and leave in the back of cop cars.

That Trayvon still wanted to get home. That Nia was 18. That Sandra still wanted to see the next day. That Sean still wanted to say I do.

That Nia was still 18. That Trayvon still wanted to go home. That Sean still wanted to say, “I do.” That Sandra still wanted to see another day.

Someone tell Kanye it's okay to mourn, tell him that I will mourn with him.

Remind him it stopped being about the money when someone else determine his worth, and how much it cost to reclaim soul.

Tell Kanye that the flashing lights are causing his grip on what's real to spasm into someone else's slave shipment of oppression.

Someone tell Kanye to run.

Tell him to follow the same night sky that led Harriet Tubman to freedom.

Go back to Donda's House and feel the gorgeous melanin skin scarred by 400 years.

Maybe he got on and left his mother’s memory for a white girl.

Tell him to run back to arms of Chicago an beg for forgiveness.

Someone, please get Kanye, I wanna tell Kanye. I miss the old Kanye, straight from the 'Go Kanye

Chop up the soul Kanye.

I hate the new Kanye, the bad mood Kanye.

The always rude Kanye, spaz in the news Kanye.

I use to love Kanye, I use to love Kanye. I still love Kanye, I want back Kanye.