Crown Heights

This one feels unfinished, but I think it’s unfair to hold things in until they’re perfect. My standard of perfection I’ve had for my work has prevented me from sharing things for 23 years. When gun violence hits close to home and you type into your phone on your train ride back to your apartment after seeing the news, imperfect words come out. Sometimes it’s hard to express. This one’s called Crown Heights.

King,
Can’t you hear the siren call?
You said you’d be here, king.
So when all the brothers fall,
Will we see your face at last?
I bring my hopeless knees down, king.
Crying on the floor.
Oh, King.
I can’t take it anymore.

Another story. Another gun. Another let off with a warning.
King! King, where are you?
There’s another on the ground.

Where’s my protector, Amidst the protests?
Where is my shield? The one I said I’d die for.
Where’s the healing? Where are the healed? Everyone I see, they’re all broken into pieces.

Oh king, what are you doing on your high throne? Leaving us here to deal with these days all alone.

We are all alone.

Oh king!

Here’s another story! Another gun.
Why am I one of the lucky ones?
Why am I one of the lucky ones? Standing here unbroken, in the shadow of the towers that are crumbling, crashing, this is just life as we know it.

I drink the wine
Just for the shake and the shudder,
To feel disgust
Of just bleeding out another.
I break bread
For the tight feeling in my chest,
Waves of regret.
The wicked cease to rest.

I will never rest.
Oh king, hear me sing:

Your kingdom’s calling.
Your kingdom’s calling.
Your kingdom’s falling.

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