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The poem discusses the cycle of violence within black communities and calls for an end to reacting out of instinctive anger ("visceral"). It references the difficulty of removing bloodstains as a metaphor for moving past violence ("when they say they can't get my brother's blood off my sleeve"). The speaker urges listeners to examine their own role in perpetuating conflicts ("the men in the mirrors") and admits mistakes were made, so the community can unite under a new identity and legacy for future generations.
The poem discusses the cycle of violence within black communities and calls for an end to reacting out of instinctive anger ("visceral"). It references the difficulty of removing bloodstains as a metaphor for moving past violence ("when they say they can't get my brother's blood off my sleeve"). The speaker urges listeners to examine their own role in perpetuating conflicts ("the men in the mirrors") and admits mistakes were made, so the community can unite under a new identity and legacy for future generations.
The poem discusses the cycle of violence within black communities and calls for an end to reacting out of instinctive anger ("visceral"). It references the difficulty of removing bloodstains as a metaphor for moving past violence ("when they say they can't get my brother's blood off my sleeve"). The speaker urges listeners to examine their own role in perpetuating conflicts ("the men in the mirrors") and admits mistakes were made, so the community can unite under a new identity and legacy for future generations.
Aint gonna be no mommas to love us, If we keep reacting from our visceral. But dont take this story from some young novice: I bid you crack this murder mystery! Make glocks and gats abstracts of history! Take tasers and triggers from those who commit tyranny! So we can have a story to tell... Ive killed some poets & youve done the same But you keep tellin me that I cant complain But when my dry-clean bill comes then will you believe? When they say they cant get my brothers blood off my sleeve. Fine. Stay stuck to your lies like white on rice Black-on-blacks a crime, but whos holding the dice? And, if not my hands then my eyes, If not my mouth then my ears Michael taught us to look at the men in the mirrors So, admit we were wrong, so we can move on, and the nation be strong, and united as one, and the men who are wanted, can get a new dawn, and their daughters and sons can sing a new song and We can have a new story to tell...