By King Moosa

Some where in America grief paints the pavement of a kids playground, once bright smiles have turned into slight grins, somewhere in America!

There is a Black woman pouring fear into her sons psyche, as nightly clips on the news display a thousand ways to lose her son,

Policy stagnates the potential of our tomorrow,

Designed oppression has turned my preschool into a funeral home,

Somewhere right now there is man attempting to raise his child through a prison phone, 

Somewhere in America there is a city where cops shoot first, and without second thought, judges sentence children  like they are adults,

State lined with people who served state time, seeking  relief from this permanent punishment,

These hate crimes, somewhere! 

Somewhere in America, Willie’s residue is sticking to a kids rib, alive and well but rears his head only once he becomes a man inside a jail, with no voice they try and yell, but Willie knows No Vote means That he can thrive in cells.