Poetry Blog by Adam Scopp

Hands Up, On Your Knees

Hands up

On your knees 

It’s not an instruction 

It’s a threat

Because your skin

Your hands 

Your hoodie 

Are a weapon 

So you drop

You drop like Trayvon’s skittles 

You drop like Tamir’s BB pellets

You drop like Michael’s cigars 

Or you drop dead. 

Each breath could be your last

Breathe breathe breathe 

I can’t breathe

Please, please, I can’t breath...

Read and leave comments (0)

black lives matterBLMchangeoppressionracism

This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message