My Brothers Keeper

This one is about my brothers...

We don't share the same blood,
but no bruise, scratch, or bullet wound, has touched you, and not myself.

Our hair texture,
Eye color,
Height,
Address.

Reflect something different.

I prayed for you.
I prayed for all of you, before I even knew who you were,
how many of you there would be.
I asked God to send me a brother because,
even though I loved my two sisters,
I knew you and I would have a special bond.

One after the other, He kept sending brother after brother.
1 became 3, then 6, then 10... now all of you!

You all have been my body guards, protectors, safe spaces,
and the strong but quiet force I could never be.

You all have also been the prime source for my grey hair, anxiety,
and constant prayers of safety, justice, and tears.

But you are my brothers... and I am my brothers keeper.

I will get things wrong, fail over and over, tell you the hard truths you don't want to hear, and embarrass you till I die...

But I am your sister... and you are your sisters keeper.

Loyalty is something I don't mess with.
Remember that.

I also want you to remember that every time we shove, push, and argue, it is never because I hate you or think of you less than anyone else... it's actually because I love you, and think so much of you, I would do anything for you to not give up on yourself, and settle for acting like a fool.

I also have some anger problems...
I know some of you can relate... and we can handle each others rough edges.
Thank you.

I've known most of you half of your life... the rest of you, we still have lots of years to go together.
Time away and distance apart from you all scared me for a long time... then I would come back, and it is like nothing changed, other than your height and how deep your voice got! I am thankful for you mommas, grannies, pops, for allowing me into your life. Words can't express what having someone in your corner feels like... and I hope I can be that someone for you all as long as my heart has a beat.

Texts, calls, facetime, hours in the front yard, hours in your houses, miles and miles in my little yellow car or a ministry van, trash talk on the basketball court, and tears in the hallways. You are the ones who see deep inside my soul, and call my bluffs before I even start.

One day I'll be old, sitting back in a rocking chair, no longer running in these streets like I do now.

BUT.

I'll still be cheering for you, I'll be in your corner praying over you and asking God to send you little brothers to watch how you live your life and maybe then you will understand why, after all these years, I always said

"Look me in the eyes. I love you."

Cold Bodies

Cold bodies seem to be loved more after they hit the ground,

                                and the blood spills out,

          caught in crossfire 
          pre-meditated 
          warnings given
          too young always.

There is suddenly time and space to feel things,
unhappy things, 
this is when certain communities mourn.
and others look on with judgment and have expensive coffee talks about what could have been done to avoid it.

Cold bodies seem to be loved more after they hit the ground,

                                  and the blood spills out,

           wrong place and wrong time
           last words they would have never chosen for themselves
           hurting people taking matters into their own hands 
           people of influence and privilege collecting data and news clippings.

We do the thing, the shock, the pushing away emotions, the remembering better times,
Burn candles, pray for the family, write about it, forget about it,
till the next one,
and we repeat,
and nothing changes. 

When it rains, it pours.
But I've decided to set out a bucket to catch some of this damn rain and put it to good use in a community that is suffering from a drought of systematic death.

I wanna love bodies while blood is pumping in their veins. 
Not once they turn cold.