Black Girls Have Lesser Search Parties.

Some lights are extinguished without
the very human dignity of breath.
The flicker small with hopes of one day becoming important and disappear quietly.

They go into the night air.
If there were screams they must’ve
surely been drowned out by
their contemporaries.
Left waving in silence at the abyss.

The magnitude of notoriety
is only given to particular flesh
in this world.
Notoriety, which through wealth, makes their glow something of worth.
Which, through media, makes them memorable.
Which, through the very structure of violence, makes their hurt real.

Some lights wait in corridors for acknowledgement-
laboring intently to be seen.

Wick lit.
Wax wet.
Stain dry.
Wanting.

Never realizing the strength of their own warmth.

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