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Letter to the Movement

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we have got so far away from Reliability and using the power of our words and have extended to rely on ability and playing with words

Why do we play with words when they hold so much

I remember seeing Free Him on my cousin T Shirt

Hit my heart made me relive every moment I ever spent with him

When they blitz his house they blitzed my soul

Now hearing Free him in a rap song just match’s the bars

But can’t match the bars that hold him so locked away and far from home

How you fight for my brothers but never seen them through that bullet proof mirror

I talked to my brothers through a phone while looking them in the face without the ability to touch them

I’m I felt like we were holding cans with strings attached the sound of their voice just bounced around the can like my heart does on that brittle string

Violining to the beat of that life sentence cuz when the hammer hit the sentence almost flatlined my heart like it flatlined his life

You call yourselves activist but where is the activity

When my brother got shot I didn’t see no RIPs and Forever Remember from Black Lives Matter

But you tell me that you believe his life mattered but you never claim his life in your instagram rants

This isn’t a letter about how little your doing

This is a letter about how much you claim to do

You make protests and tell me to stand up against any injustice

But I’ve played enough injustice to know I’m not no superhero

If I can’t survive best of three rounds with Superman

I know I can’t handle a single round from someone wearing that same red, white and blue

So what can you do?

If I get gunned down in the middle of the street I don’t want to be a hashtag that won’t support my family

I don’t want to be a RIP, a 4L or a Never forget

Cuz at the end of the day we always forget

I don’t wanna be hashtag

I wanna be remembered

—DeAndre Walters

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