The body of Sandra Bland lies dead and cold, but the poet’s voice is alive and full of human sympathy for the wrongs we do to each other …

Ants
I hit one just to test my aim
It wasn’t out of anger or to make it feel pain
It’s just one of those things you do as a little game
To see if you still have it, nobody’s gonna miss it anyway
And if they do, the little buzz that’s caused
Always seems to fade
And if it doesn’t these things are easily replaced.
The light can be shone on bigger problems that will ease our minds from the ‘pain’
Bigger issues we can highlight and create, to demonstrate just how these issues
Carry a lot less weight
For me, it’s just a little morale booster that I see as a personal accolade
Something I can brag about like, ‘hey, I hit that one from about 30 metres away’
It fell to the floor, and I think I even saw part of its brain
But this group has a talent, undeniably something that catches the eye
While their cousins only crawl, these things can fly
We’ll use some for research, others can entertain, whatever their purpose
The outcome will be income that will better our lives
So our job here is to lead them to the light
And if that doesn’t take flight
The light can have another purpose, we can stop them from seeing another day or night
This group kills itself, all it needs is a spark, a fire burns within them
And they lash out on one another
I guess it’s within their nature
If anything, they make my job a lot easier
I just moved to a new area, nice view
With people around me that couldn’t make me happier
But while my new place was getting done up, the only thing I could afford
For the meantime was infested
By things which only acted as barriers
But you should be cautious about your enemies, so I learnt the culture, saw the mothers
Learnt the life they live and breath, but still remained with the ambition
Of them no longer being able to breed
So I remembered what you taught me and called the exterminator
This would be costly but worth it
Because I’d be getting rid of each and every one of them
Whichever size, shape or colour
Because right now they have me feeling smothered
So this is for my forefathers
I plan out the event, something to lure them in
I set a trail, so now the whole room is covered
My plan worked. I should’ve known it would have been this easy to complete
Now they can’t breathe
Gasping for air, while I can finally hang up my feet
That’s what I call the perfect way to kill off a community, that’s due to me
A community tearing itself apart
And the perfect way to start off a new life living carefree.
I don’t just wanna be a record, I want you to record, my people’s accomplishments
And the records we’ve set, rather than the criminal records, and statistics you’ve made
I guess the best way to react would be to not react at all
So I act like I’m not phased, walking tall
Feeling small, laying my anger against the dry wall
Swallowing this bitter pill, trying to ignore the fall of the people
Who have been carrying us all
I seek revenge, but I’m like a mouse already trapped
The cheese is dangling down and I’m about as useful as a bird who can’t flap
So as I go to chase what I need to survive
They’re waiting for me like ‘this is the end of the line’
So as I try to climb and fight, I realise every swing I take and every hole I dig
In search of a better life for me and my kids
Is only leading to harder times
More friction causing more problems from which we can’t survive
So I tap out a victim, and play my position
So I can live to warn my children; that is,
If at least one can be raised right
Without growing up
Already having fallen
I guess the easiest way through this would simply be submitting to the system
We carry on by singing our songs
Playing the blues
Ignoring what’s wrong
Trying to entertain ourselves the best we can
We try and hide the pain, I guess our plan is to simply listen to the man
Our blood boils but we’re too weak to react
But when one does, the whole world blames us as a pack
Back to square one the vicious cycle spins
The love between one another overshadowed by these, issues