Prayer for the Next Black Boy

This time, I’ll say
“[black boy] put his hands up”,
and I’ll mean class participation.
I’ll mean roller coaster.
I’ll mean dancing,
not police raid.

This time, I’ll say
“[black boy] had chains around his wrists”,
and I’ll mean jewelry.
I’ll mean they had diamonds in them,
gold.

This time, I’ll say
“[black boy] was unarmed”,
and I’ll mean he finally opened up to me.
I’ll mean this
beautiful
brown
body.

This time, I’ll say
“[black boy] fell to the ground”,
and I’ll mean football.
(American or European.)
I’ll mean basketball,
wrestling.
I’ll mean he got back up
because

this time, I’ll say
“[black boy] will be buried”,
and I’ll mean in the crook of my neck.
I’ll mean between my legs,
so he’ll still see heaven.

This time, [black boy] will say
“I can’t breathe”,
and he’ll mean damn, she was so fucking beautiful when she walked into the room.

He’ll mean don’t call the police,
and, there’s no need for an ambulance
because

this time, his blood will be rushing to his dick and not out of his head
onto the pavement on the side of the road.

By Mia M

Biography:

Mia M is a nineteen-year-old Congolese girl currently living in South Africa. She is a social activist studying Human Rights Law and Gender Equality Fundamentals who likes to write poetry loosely based on those themes. You can find her on Instagram (@whereismia.exe). Also see her gender justice movement on Instagram (@move4men).