No one gets to decide when racism is dead.
It didn’t die after Emancipation.
It wasn’t vanquished after Civil Rights were achieved.
It didn’t run into a cave because a black man was elected president.
It didn’t take up sole residence in George Zimmerman.
Racism is here.
How in the world…
in a country where the native race was kicked from the land…
…and another race was enslaved to develop it…
could racism evaporate into thin air?
Wake up America.
Racism is the blood-stained string used to stitch this country together.
It’s in our office buildings, it’s on our streets, it’s in our homes.
The solution is to be ever vigilant of its immortality…
not jump at every opportunity to write its obituary.
-a.c.f
kThis post has 27 notes
tThis was posted 1 year ago
zThis has been tagged with racism, poetry, spoken word, trayvon martin,
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