The Stars are Rioting Too

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a black child treads beneath a silver of moon
close enough for the ocean to illuminate his skin
says the origin of the universe begins with the sky
and not light itself and that the sky was never blue
but was once a black child.
you did not forget this part of history.
they will never tell you your ancestors' souls
live in the ocean and how they exhume stars
from the waves to rid the sky of its blackness,
and how the sun was your ancestors' final gift to you
existing to return the ocean to the sky
as if it were a stolen good. the black child who says
water is the perfect weapon to tame fire,
is who they blame for setting the sun ablaze.
you always awake lamenting the dead.
the ocean cradles hot ash and preserves it
while ember gathers in the air to form constellations.
even the stars are organizing with you to protest
in war torn streets. the clouds are chanting a hymn
and are weeping too. your hands are holding fire
that is hungry to devour something.
you run and the sky is a wise shepherd
guiding you to a forsaken courthouse
while lightning catches a black child burying tears
below the ocean's belly as if it were hidden treasure.

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