If I don’t check twitter then the black kid won’t die.
His family won’t have to think about what coffin to buy for him.
He can lay in his bed instead of in the ground
or in the ground.
If I don’t click on that hashtag then the black kid won’t die.
The police wouldn’t have done it.
Their father wouldn’t have done it.
Their lover wouldn’t have done it.
They won’t have died wondering what they did wrong.
If I don’t click on that article then the black kid won’t die.
There won’t be white people remember that racism still exists.
There won’t be white people denying that racism doesn’t exist.
There will be no one saying they were unlucky.
If I don’t write a poem then the black kid won’t die.
And the black kid won’t die
And the black kid won’t die
And the black kid won’t die
And the black kid won’t die
And I won’t have to be the black kid.
And the black kid won’t die.

This one is for the next black kid.
I’m sorry that your bones became a hashtag.
I’m sorry that our tears are just watering the plot you lay in.
I’m sorry your the plot of this poem.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m so…