There is so much talk of a revolution we do not remember we used to revolt
Rise up
Resist
Retaliate
Retort

The reward for the blood sweat and tears we reminisce every February
Is a generation who relishes in the spoils of our ancestors remains;
A poor rendition of what it means to be black and proud
A population that no longer riots
But retreats
Remains silent
Reconsiders and
Reconvenes in the safety of our rooms and repost statements
On web-sights that never see us act.
We oppress ourselves

Tweet more than we talk
Update our statuses so often we have lost our worth
We work more than we watch
We watch Media Takeout, World Star Hip-hop, TMZ and reality TV to see how celebrities lives work
We carry phones instead of watches
Only keep time when we want to get off work
Clock in
Clock out
We don’t have time to change
So we pray to a god we forget 6 days out of the week
In a manner that is foreign to us
Because text is the only language we speak.

We put more faith in Obama than ourselves
Our souls have become billboards for campaign slogans and product placement
Only convinced in progress as long as a politician or a rapper makes it catchy
Coaxing us from what used to cause uproar
We have not gone to war since Rodney King
No broken silence for Dialo
For Sean Bell
For Jena 6
For Oscar Grant, and so many more
Only online protests with faceless names
Complacent is an understatement
I am tired of waiting for “Black” to stop being a fashion statement
Our rebellion has been reduced to cute phrases on t-shirts
Hipster attire and “f*** the government” wristbands
We care just enough to complain but not combat
The levees of justice have long been broken it is time to flood the streets
Not march but stomp, stampede over inequalities
And subtle constraints
It is time to die in the name of life
For those that will come after you
For the demons that will come after them
To stand
Still as a corpse, but strong as movement
Because I would rather die on my feet and be remembered for my sacrifice
Than live like I never existed.