Poem: 'How Many Must Die Before Things Change?'

by Emma Moseley

(photo: James Eades, eadesstudio)

How many must die before things change?

Their lives remembered

Only as numbers.

The world is unravelling, frantically winding out of control

But

how was it held together before?

Black skin is a death sentence.

Black skin has been a death sentence for the past 400 years.

Children lie dead in the streets. We step over their corpses.

They deserved it.

We called them super predators

stripped them of their innocence

forced them into the streets

locked them in prison cells

killed their parents.

And we pat ourselves on the back: this is how it is.

Things mustn't change.

They can't.

13% of the USA population is black.

43% of the victims of fatal police shootings are black.

How many can you name?

How many must die before things change?

We drank the kool-aid.

We've been drinking it for centuries.

It's time to wake up.

But I am tired.

Existence is hell.

My gender demonises me, it damns me.

I am not your plaything.

I am not your sexual currency.

I am numb.

137 women killed by a partner every day.

How many can you name?

How many must die before things change?

It's time to wake up.

How many fear holding hands with their love?

Do you?

I do.

I cannot love who I choose.

12 countries can legally kill me.

Will you remember my name?

Will things change if I die?

Our soil is saturated with tears,

Our oceans are filled with screams.

No one is safe until we are all safe.