Revolutionary

Dear Mr. Shabazz--

I knew you were going to be my hero
The moment my APUSH teacher scoffed at you
And dismissed you as "violent."

That's how I knew you were important.

Cuz when they get angry
And dismissive
That's how you know you struck a nerve.

I'm not like you; I can't stick to a strict foot or iamb.
But I can write a proper verse
Even though it'll die, like all men do--
But not the memory of you,
Never the memory.

So I wonder often how you might react if you saw what's up now.

Not to bother you but
Help me out here, Malcolm

All my friends are hollow;
Their eyes are white goo and bleed down their cheeks,
They spend so long lying at the feet of the white devil.
The white devil has turned now into the elites and the elite bourgeoisie
Or perhaps they've always been that way?
And I don't know what to do

Even though my adolescent fingers itch to do something.
And I sometimes regret being born a creative rather than someone with more brain
Since maybe if I had, I might actually do something
Worthwhile.

Help me out here, Malcolm.

Cuz I'm sick of watching.
I'm sick of watching
And they're sick of dying.
And we're all quite tired down here.

And I'm sitting here,
My face lit up by the faint glow of my screen.
Starvation and murder and genocide
Wail at my eyes.
Where are you?

Cuz I don't know how I'm gonna do it.
I simply just don't know how the hell I'm going to do it.