No peace.

Yesterday was 3.14, March 14th— pie day to most math-heads and nerds. Today is March 15th, two days and two years after Breonna Taylor was murdered by a police officer, while she was sleepin in her apartment. 

Yesterday was 3.14, and for Tracy and Sybrina, they’ve spent 10 years forgettin a day mathematicians, scientists and math lovers adore and remembering another day without Trayvon Martin at their kitchen table. 

Black.

Because you black, right ain’t the focus. 

Because I’m black, white wasn’t focused on my dying, they knew it was on its way. 

Because Black Lives Matter, is why I won’t die and lie down. 

Because blackholes feel no shame, they beautiful. 

Because she black, we care and they don’t. 

Because he wasn’t black, he’s home — with no bullet between his head and his pillow. 

Lives.

Baker, Hurston, Wells, King, Malcolm, Angela David, James Baldwin, Toni Morrison, they’re lives started young. 

They failed, and they were good trouble and their worlds was not better or worse. 

They were young, no 10-year plan for Freedom Fighters. No scholarships for activists and thugs made righteous. 

Lives organizin Black, lives as seeing& saying somethin Black, lives crusadin for Blacks, lives dreamin; lives autobiographically faith bound, lives for women-race-class, lives writin only legible to the native son(s), lives regardin the self. Lives lived, young.

Matter.

If I die it’ll matter. If you die, it’ll also matter, to me. 

Black Death Matters more than math. Black Death Matters more than why. 
Black Death Matters more than ALL DEATHS!

Black Death Matters are more than folklore and viral content. 
Black Death Matters are kitchen table talk and the bedtime stories we share, 
gamblin. 
measurin. 
hopin& tellin. 

No longer waitin on, no justice. 
No longer waitin on, no peace.