still, i wonder if you wonder if we are capable of suffering?

I don’t want to bring it up

but I must bring it up


when certain ghost seem

to pass quiet as rain


just before dawn

how you wake


to a wet lawn with no

memory of the storm


that’s what the blood

is like, you point


to it & ask how it got there

you can’t imagine


a storm you can’t see

even if the winds


are ripping my body

into fifths, even if


your body is the lightning

I seek shelter from.


if tomorrow is my turn

to be the body on the news


will you mourn me or

blame me? will I be a tragedy


or a tradition? will you

retweet me? will you


change your profile pic

to my gentlest headshot?


will you bother

to learn my name?


will you elegy me? am I

the right shade of your mourning?


do you only feel sadness

when the victims are white?


who do you pray for

& what color is your god?


do you believe God

loves your country more?


do your dreams taste like

pie & oil & blood?


tell me the difference

amongst the bones