Writing Catalog

Sarai Murdock

Grade: 10

Cleveland School of the Arts

Instructor: Brittainy Quinn




I'm floating in my bubble coming down from space.
I've decided now is time for my appearance on this earth.
My paint box unique from the others and my wisdom above some.
But then pop
I get shot with a gun.
ain't that funny…
put your money where your mouth is.
Your worths a dime a dozen
My worth cost me my life.
Such a naive child,
ain't you know being black in America comes with taxes.
But ya blood and your courage
and ya dignity and your emotional presence can pay that price.
Your taxes are due.
Ima tell you ya ugly but I want my hair and my skin to look like you.
Snap my fingers three times I can buy ya face from a tan spray,
pull my finger back three times and you're dead all in the same minute.
Like a overworked machine built off the success white men get from the oppression of
Gotta run fast,
till your slapped and attacked with my…
negro killing ropes
and ties
except the only pain you feel is the mental state of
am I gonna die if I step out this house?
with a few stab wounds of..
is my child gonna die when they walk home from school?
With a few finger breaking sensations of
don't shoot…
don't shoot…
don't shoot…me a text
"omg blacklives totally matter we totally have to do something about this. My black best friends sister and I got the exact same bag of chips and hers was almost empty Iike total hate crime. Righttt???". Cuz for you not wearing a mask is more important than not having to wear invisible chains.
You wanna make a protest
to my Protest
to protest
your privileges.
Difference is when you're shot, bloods on their hands
and when I'm shot bloods on my ancestor's tree,
cuz it's incripted in my veins to feel pain from these
money obsessed death workers who seek my skeleton
cuz the skin covering it was too much for them.
I float cuz you want me to run,
I run cuz you want me to stand,
and I stand cuz you think ima go.
But I'm done,
it's time for you to walk
.. away