2020 / POETRY / AUTHOR
LUTORIA BRICKHOUSE
TIRED
…
I’m tired.
I’m tired of people getting more mad
About a black man
Peacefully protesting
With his knee on a field
Than at the armed protestors
Who fight for the right
To infect others
As they storm a Capitol Hill.
I’m tired.
I’m tired of too many white people
Saying, “I’m not racist;
I have a black friend!”
While they don’t post,
Don’t talk,
Don’t do anything
To try to bring racism to an end
I’m tired.
I’m tired of my Christian
Brothers and sisters claiming,
“I care about all lives,
From birth to tomb,”
When too many
Do nothing to
Protect and care for a brown baby
Once it leaves the womb.
I’m tired.
I’m tired of family and friends
And employers and colleagues
Denying it’s a race issue
When a black man is killed
When they’ll never know
What it’s like to hear a parent yell,
“Your kid is only on the
Basketball team because they’re
Black, not because of their skills!”
I’m tired.
I’m tired of crying myself to sleep
Because I just
Cannot understand
How people fail to see:
The looks my family gets,
The racist jokes I endure,
The fights that I’ve caused
Because my skin is brown
And not cream.
I’m tired.
I’m tired of people
Denying they’re racist
And claiming, “I don’t see color,”
So they can sit
Happily in their privilege,
Saying, “I have the same rights as the others.”
I’m tired.
I’m tired of being thankful
My sons will never know
What it’s like to fear their lives
Will be taken by an officer
Because, though they may grow
To be big, strong men,
They look like
Their white father.
I’m tired.
We’re tired.