Born with two strikes against me being black and poor,
Stigmatized because of where I’m from, I’m caught up in a war,
five black wars yet no justice or peace as a remedy.
How can I be my brother’s keeper when my brothers are the enemy?
Cursed! Is what my mother says we are ‘cause we despise our own blood,
Neglecting our women and children and abandoning brotherly love,
what has our generation come to?
We need a solution
less rhetoric pollution,
let’s listen, we’re losing.
Disclaimer: The views in this article are those of the author. Prison Journalism Project has verified the writer’s identity and basic facts such as the names of institutions mentioned.