I’m in a country where my ancestors were slaves
But they tell me feel free
It doesn’t mean I am…
But chained or not I’m still me
I spread the truth like peanut butter
Because it feels me
But because it’s now our minds rather than
Our bodies enslaved
My brothers and sisters don’t feel me…
Blinded by fame
Drunk with money
Faded by fashion
Shortening our days
Slowly plummeting
Altering our passions
When we kill each other
Its easy for them to say feel free
Not just physically but mentally
And spiritually not to mention emotionally
But I have told ask and I don’t mind you quoting me
Just notice my theme and the message in between
With this question…
Brothers, sisters, police…
Why kill me?

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