This is probably the last entry in this blog. It has been retired. It will remain open to the wide huge world for you to read and reread. One day this will be PUBLISH!

$5 a copy
If you wanna copy please email me at LetFREEDOMring.mynameislibre@gmail.com


to be continued mynameislibre.tumblr.com

And here is what you see is me and me and me and me
and even the police are me. Don’t you see? Don’t you see?
This violence lives in everything.
I breathe and sink my teeth
into warm skin (brown skin/white skin)
it’s all just skin, pigmented.
The movement is beginning again
but this time it is moving our minds, fermentating,
growing, changing thought and they float like dreams.
Clouds in our faces blocking the scene.
Guts spilled out on cement,
We are drunk on this hatred.
My bones are spliting in half, can’t you see my face?
We’re crying rivers through the blood on the streets.
Oscar Grant was a sacrifice
and I’ll be the next one on the altar to die.
I am bigger than this reality,
I know I’m still invisible now but my time is coming.
I know that the FBI will find me,
cos you see
I am you and you and you and you
and I’ll never really die as long as you revive me.

Shay M******
Omw to my doctors appt to check on my daughter . This stress is definitely affectin her and I need a way to cope .

16 minutes ago via Mobile Web · Like · Comment · Share


Rose A*******
Get some paints and get a couple of small canvases put some music on that relaxes you and think about your daughter. Imagine her smile and her laughter. Imagine what her eyez are gonna look like. Imagine how its gonna feel to hold her and care for her until she starts to walk. Allow your daughter to speak back to you. She is very aware of your presence and her own presence inside you. Then paint and paint and paint.
about a minute ago · Like

On the way to school today on the 57

A bus full of sleepy people, 8 something in the morning. All of us; children, teens, mothers, elderly watching the sun rise in the sky before we begin our day. I listened to the "caa" of a bird before I boarded. A child yawns, I'm listening to each distinct conversation. I'm recognizing faces now. A mother with two children. An older woman going blind. A tired nurse. The rowdy teenagers in the back, swearing and laughing. Everyone is crowded in here, we are packed in. Why don't the people sent up the bus service themselves? Why is it illegal to run our own system of public transportation? Why has everything having to do with self government been made illegal? All people need to stay safe is a set of morals. We have no morals anymore... We get packed in with kids laughing and the driver running the bus with a vengeance. Then they all spill out onto the street by the church and middle school. The bus is getting so full at every hour, we need to do something.

I put my pencil down, put on my backpack and get off the bus to the bombshelter.

Tomboy from Barb Taylor on Vimeo.

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