6 Things that would be better than a cop Academy


  1. $95 million to each resident of West Garfield Park is roughly $5343.52, that is not nearly enough for reparations, however, the cop academy is reverse Robin Hood; give to the reach, displace the poor, and leave them with nothing.
  2. A cooperative food shop and community gardens would be open on every single block to feed the masses. Their bellies will be full and youth won't have to be reminded that whiteness is the only way to be nourished. 
  3. Every person would have at least their own 400 sq ft paradise. To be reminded that housing is not a commodity, it is a human right. It is essential to life and as vital like honey; it pollinates, rejuvenates, and spreads the sweetness from generation to generation. Without housing, there is no community.
  4.  Arts, education, and community centers would be open and will teach black and brown youth that they are royalty. That your life is a throne and should be praised by many. To understand that you don't have to grow up so quickly. Your life span is beyond the age of 25.
  5. There would be gardens, Trees, and art everywhere to create a community sanctuary. They will act as our protection, not the guns that have claimed the lives of Laquan Mcdonald, Sandra Bland, and every black life who have died at the hands of police. 
  6. I shouldn't have to write a poem about why black lives matter. Why we may not have slavery, but black people still live in shackles. Call it school to prison pipeline, call it mass incarceration, call it pathologization of our pain, and call it #sayhername. Fuck a Cop Academy.  

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sad Boy Mysygyny (Destruction and Creation)

To all the sad boys out there, I just wanted to let you know that I am glad you are understanding your emotions. That your experience other things than the words "I'm good or Chillin". But here is the story: Beyond every sad and woke you, There are women and femmes like me who brought you here. For some reason, you think to be sad means that girls like me do the labor for you. But when I'm sad, you find a way to shut me up like an obedient dog, only to speak when spoken to. I validate your anger, but not mine. For girls like me, rage allows us to survive. The deep-centered fire within our veins because we have been neglected for so long allows us to fight, even when we have depleted. Girls like me have enough rage to destroy planets; distort the planetary alignment and rotation around the sun. Only to realize my rage has just begun. Because the fact of the matter is that being a sad boy is at the expense of people who can't be complacent, because i...
Read more

A Black Hairy Girl fulfilling the diversity Quota for a Few Days in Oregon Day 1

Image
As I drove up through an endless sea of Redwood trees, picturesque views of Mount Shasta, and stopping by the one Del Taco on the way because I was craving LA/OC nostalgia, my hairy black femme ass finally arrived in Ashland Oregon. A town of 1920s bungalows in which I want to turn them all into tiny houses on wheels, tree-lined streets, and two black folks (from my view); one of them made a transphobic comment about my leggings and my purse, however, I can't help but trigger the desires of men! It was gorgeous, a town where you see old hippies the left of you and college students to the right. A town where I could honestly just feel settled in and fulfill the diversity quota. Views of Mount Ashland with a top layer of snow on top, green pastures, and hills with infinite redwoods on top. From the endless amount of microbreweries who like to pride themselves on making the best chicken wings (do they want a metal for mediocrity), I went and got Ramen on a night that was 39 degre...
Read more

Home

I can never really find home. I am sort of never enough for any space not brown enough not queer or trans enough and not fuckable I have not unpacked my bags since I was 16 years old Since my parents took me to my first round of conversion therapy trying to pray away my sickening disease telling me that disgusting that I deserve to be homeless. What I thought was home, blossoming tree surrounding 1088 sq ft haven, became a source of emotional abuse toxicity like a red rose rotting or bread going moldy. So from then on out I have sort of decided that I should just be on my own; try to be close to people, but never close enough that they would miss me be vulnerable, but never enough to display that I am in pain or display too much to so that people don't associate with me. It has been a hard six years since then, sleepless nights, self-depreciation, spontaneous Dunkin Donut Runs and researching the perfect tiny house community. So right now I am feeling everythi...
Read more