this nation, fabricated upon their

broken spine,

yet still they gait on fragmented glass.

besought for their final draught,

before the lynching with a knee.

“THUGS”

you, merely afraid,

“looting starts, shooting starts”

to face the monster of your own making.

• S.R

This is a poem I wrote for my uncle Felix, an African American who doesn’t deserve to suffer the blatant racism against black people in San Francisco. Uncle Felix, I hope that one day, you walk outside comfortably in your own skin. Until then, I will stand with you, I will fight for you. Black lives matter.