Fertilizer

By Rianna Griffith, 14

As more black bodies drop weekly at the hands of your hate I wonder,

Do we make better fertilizer?

Nourish your ground and grow your systems that bury us alive?

We’re still struggling to survive.

You put a gun to our heads and “accidentally” pull the trigger

Then the cycle continues, what did you figure

would happen?

When you pretend we had a choice,

but if we didn’t drown on your command

To cash your check

you put a hand on our throat or knee on our neck.

And have the nerve to call it a victim mentality.

You’ve been victimizing since you brought ships full of Africans to do your heavy lifting.

You wouldn’t let us learn how to read because you were too scared to see how much more than 3/5 we could be.

Now that we’re whole people but still far from equal

Police barricades feel too much like shackles and chains.

You’re still scared to liberate us.

We yell enough is enough. No justice no peace.

But you still won’t listen while we scream:

I

Can’t

Breathe.

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This poem was inspired by the injustices I face as a Black woman in America and the fear of watching other Black Americans die at the hands of systemic racism and oppression–the same systemic racism people love to say isn’t real. But it’s so real to me.