Poem: Past Tense

You owe me more time,

I was that minority,

the one the world saw on the street.

One second more turned to death,

one more minute brought upon arrest,

and privacy no longer mattered.

You spread the fires,

flames burning across the lands,

outrage and frustration not dying out.

You made it so clear,

counterfeit cops in the open,

in the spotlight again.

You can’t proofread the published,

opinions already written in blood,

and now my voice has gone.

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