Put your hands up

a narrative poem by Desiree

Saturday night walking down the street, as I pray to the lord my soul to keep, thinking in my head hoping I won’t be another kid dead.

I look back, and then to the left and my right I start thinking something don’t feel right.

I saw a cop car pulling up next to me, he just started checking me saying where you going, boy.

Sir, I’m just trying to get home to my mama. I ain’t trying to start no drama.

He jumped out the car and he said don’t even think about running because if you run it ain’t go’n be a whole lot of fun.

I’m thinking to myself what did I do?  I’m just trying to get home.

So I stopped and looked up and realized I ain’t do nothing but there ain’t nobody around to say nothing.

I started walking and walking.  The cop said put your hands up, but I didn’t. I ain’t put my hands because I’m gonna stand up and I went home.

The end.

But it wasn’t true because that’s not what my people go through. A flash of light hits, and truth be told I was another kid dead. It’s not fair why God why me. We been going through this for over centuries.  Don’t believe me look at the list.  Man, how many times we couldn’t stand up because all they want us to do is put our hands up.

Desiree is 16.  She says, “The reason I write poetry is that it helps me with my anxiety and, over the last few years, depression. Also it has helped with any emotion I’m having, whether I’m happy, sad, angry, disappointed.”

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