Written in overcast
Underneath clouds that last
Dragging, hanging down forever
A lasting peace in a transitory past
Transient, traitors
Are they masked?
‘Jail time for being black’
So who’s really got my back?

In minds so abrasively mixed into Misused as they protect to protract
With perfected, perforated edges
“She wouldn’t crack”,
Still getting bitches off the black
In the cool bus and to the back
Cool drop the S-H and slack

May sound lazy,
But we kinda like it like that
Like I said three poems ago
And four lines passed,
‘Middle fingers up’
And with that I’ll take
Another drag


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