This poem was written in early 2020 between the Ahmaud Arbery and George Floyd murders. It is self-explanatory, except to say that after Floyd and to this day, the "open fist in velvet glove" sentiment becomes increasingly challenging to feel. The hate of racism becomes you if you mirror it. So like the poem says, hard as it may be, stay on the high road of peace.

Race Against No One

Imagine one day that you’re out for a run,
Moss hanging from the trees in the southern sun.
It’s a beautiful day. You’ll have miles of fun.
Like running in a race, yet against no one.

Then some angry guys show up in a truck.
They’re yelling at you “Stop!”, and you’re thinking “What the fuck?”.
“Holy crap! They have guns! This is real! Man I’m stuck!”
Then you’re lying on the ground, dying with your good luck.
Your pain’s deep, you watch your blood, then your last breath to suck.

Ahmaud, Martin, Trayvon, Jon, Botham, Emmett,
Try on their footwear. Take a long run in it.
They all ran the black race. If you’re white, could you win it?
Running in their skin, but without the soul within it?

Just know this before you kill any more:
The world watches now more than ever before.
It’s getting hard to hide behind your hood or office door.
The power that you seek will soon settle your score.
You claim to know a god? Do you know what he stands for?

But why hate? What’s the point? Is it really worth the trouble?
What a big hassle just to stay inside your bubble.
Why not get along instead of cause more social rubble?
You must have better things to do than raging like a bull.

And also there’s this: please know that you are loved.
WE choose, FOR you, to open fist in velvet glove
‘Cause the King taught all the mighty power of the dove,
And reciprocating hate raises no one above.

So, what can you do with your inculcated hate?
Please try something different to improve our mutual fate.
Have you read Black Like Me? If not, it’s not too late.
Then stare deep in Griffin’s mirror. Donne’s answer will await.

Imagine one day that you’re out for a run.
Moss hanging from the trees in the southern sun.
It’s a beautiful day. You’ll have miles of fun.
Like running in a race, yet against no one.
Because the human race is nothing to be won.