Woman.

Kill Him.

Kill Him.

I know you didn't mean to kill him,
I hear it in your voice,
Officer.
I know your gun just liked the look of his melanin enriched skin,
And you finger itched with the desire of pulled that trigger.
But I know you didn't mean to kill him.
I know that your father hated him,
Hated them,
His kind.
I know that you hated him,
Them,
His kind.

I know you didn't mean to kill him,
Officer.
I know you were afraid of a man that was stronger than you.
Stronger than you because he had to,
Because his bloodline had to.
I know the little voice in your head is your grandparents laughing,
Laughing at the thought of a brave nigger.
These new niggers.
I know you were afraid the anger he held for your kind,
The evil kind.

I know you didn't mean to kill him,
I know that your mind was as damaged as ever,
There may have been bleach pouring from your ears,
And soap foaming out of your mouth because your mother fought the evil likings out of your body at the age of 12,
Because you liked one of his kind.
Because you wanted to be one of his kind.

I know you didn't mean to kill him,
Sir.
I know you were afraid of a dark man,
In a dark hoodie,
On a dark night.
I know you did t mean to kill him,
But the gun in your hand,
The whiteness of your skin,
The smirk of your grin,
Tells me otherwise.
I know you didn't mean to kill him,
But his skin said threat,
His skin has a sign that said "Kill Me."
So you did.

I know you didn't mean to kill her,
Sir.
But her mouth was too provoking to listen to,
Her skin was melting,
Scorching hot with hate to justify your claims.
Her words sounded a little too educated.
A nigger could never sound as good as you.

I know you didn't mean to kill them,
But their bodies looked so delicate in their custom made coffins.
Their bodies looked so lovely being lowered into the ground.
Their bodies looked so nice shaking with fear.
Genocide looks so nice,
Doesn't it, Officer?