My People

Six by twelve food cell feeling like
A freshly dug six foot hole
It’s the sixth suicide since December
And it’s only six twenty-four
I sit and try to forget
When all that’s possible is remember
To bleed with no trace of blood
It’s like a death with no hug
Dying a death minus the roses
Is like living a life with no one
I called your name at midnight
Took an hour for the echo
I saw your face in my sleep crying
Whispering, whispering alone, whispering to no one
I’ll turn twenty-five in two months
But look sixty in the mirror
I’ll never forget the smell of vanilla
Us stoned sweetly contented together
I can do a whole year in only a month
I’ve eaten the same meal five years
The same bologna for dinner, breakfast and lunch
Same curls, shrugs and decline pushups
I can maintain because I know one thing
My life is tied to something larger
I will survive for only one purpose and that’s to see my people suffer
No longer