“My Brother” for DSS, Parkland, and Reynolds shows

My brother.

You have blood on your hands, my brother.

You have that look on your face like,

“Yes, Your Honor. I am guilty.

Too black in a white man’s nation.”

All melanin and mishap.

All curly hair and new Jordan kicks

And brown skin and bullet wounds

And four point five hours out in the street.”

And we accept this… As darkness.

Don't tell me you're not a victim, my brother.

If you're a brother, then you're a victim, my brother.

And I thought you might understand that by now.

I thought they might understand you by now,

But they're still focused on terminating your existence.

A chick on Tumblr said that.

So don't tell me that new racism doesn't exist.

Don't tell me that new sexism doesn't exist

When the unemployment rate of black males is still twice that of white men.

Call this a permanent recession.

Call this the second Great Depression.

Call this a roadblock in the progression of my brothers.

My brother,

Call this a “moral catastrophe.”

Cornel West said that in reference to the prison industrial complex

They want you in prison, my brother.

They want you imprisoned, my brother.

They want one out of three of you to find your home on a barely there mattress.

You could be smoking weed with a white person and they're ten times more likely to lock you up.

They want you imprisoned, my brother.

They want you to catch a felony charge, so you lose your right to vote.

They don't want you in politics.

They don't want you in education.

They don't want you in higher level classes.

They don't want to put a diploma in your hand.

This is not a poem.

This is a letter to my black brothers who have been oppressed for so long that they have forgotten that they are kings.

You are a king, my brother.

Haven't you heard that black is the new black?

Haven't you heard that melanin is the most sought after sword and curly hair is what the new crowns look like?

All brown skin. No bullet wounds.

All chin up, head high, and swagger walk in a righteous blaze of glory.

My brother, you are a king.

And if America ever makes you feel as if you are anything less,

Just show them the blood on your hands.

Tell them that you are guilty.

Tell them that you are crazy enough to believe that being black is a blessing.

Being black is a blessing.

My brother, you are a blessing.

And though this may be a white man’s nation,

This is not a white man's world.