I don't know why I watched the video of the gentleman being pinned down by two men who swore to protect him, his head against the pavement and a gun pointed at his face except maybe that America is always on his knees at my bedside begging, saying he didn't mean to do that
and I keep taking him back.
Rage is heavier than body fat. I know this because I've been running over 5 miles and haven't burnt any of it off.
Everyone out here with their GOT HOPE? bumper stickers and LUV in their license plates and I feel like the Incredible Hulk in a sports bra and leggings listening to slow jams and tryna keep it real.
All I'm saying is that when the video went dark you could still hear voices, you could still hear the pavement, you could still hear their guns explode. I'm wondering about this, about how a sound is different than a bullet, you can't dodge it or destroy it. I'm thinking, some sounds follow you like a ghost. I'm thinking, how many ghosts will hold or haunt Alton Sterling's wife tonight, tomorrow night, on the night their kids have to bury their father.
I'm running, I'm exploding, I'm haunted.
And then my friend walks out of his house. He hands me six sparklers; he knows I'm always looking for them. Silent fireworks. The kind of light that you can hold.
I'm running towards home now, because there is nowhere else to go. Down the mountain with my anger. Down the mountain with my love songs, with my ghosts. A flammable bouquet in the palm of my hand - the celebration of freedom that doesn't sound like gunshots.