Like this
That I wish
I was less empathic.
As the pain
Sears my soul
Like a red hot poker.
Dragging me
Ever deeper
Into a land of sorrow
And constant tears.
Reliving
My own memories
Of police harassment.
With
The resulting feelings
Of anger and hopelessness
From it.
Knowing
The cops had
No valid reasons
In carding me
Both times.
Especially
The first time.
Stopping me
Just minutes away
From my basement apartment
In Brampton.
For the next 10 minutes
I experienced
A level of verbal abuse
With a hint of physical violence.
Unlike
Anything before
Or since.
Explaining
I looked suspicious
To him .
And that
There have been
A rash of break-ins
Locally.
A B.S. story
As no one was talking
About this
In the neighbourhood.
Yet
I stood there
Quietly
Taking this abuse.
Scared.
More
Was to come.
In reality
Just wanting
To go home
And get some food.
Before collapsing
For the night
In bed.
Sadly
Having a driver license
And taking transit
To and from work.
Because
I couldn't afford
The expenses
Of the maintenance
For a car.
Ticked him
Off.
So
As the news
Of the deliberate killings
By the American police officers
On patrol.
Brought back
These dark memories
Of mine.
Damn them
To whatever Hell
They came from.
Therisa © 2016
Author's note: These are memories that I have kept locked away, for the most part, rarely, talking about them, to anyone. I know, these reactions, by me, are wrong, but the feeling of shame, anger, and frustration, were greater. After this past week, I need to release these memories, in a safe and constructive, thus, ending their corrosive hold, over me.
