The Bigger Picture-Lil Baby

Hey y’all! I don’t have much going on or much to say. The fight for justice is still going on. Black ppl are still being murdered n sex trafficked by police. Not much has changed but we’re progressing slowly. Justice is slow. I wrote a poem questioning where God is in all of this. I’m so lost on how people kept faith that God was with them in all of this evil. A huge part of the Civil Rights movement was religion and faith in God. The church has always been one of the pillars of the black community and it’s not to be discredited or over looked. But I just question how the God we were colonized over and the God we serve is not the same God. And God is a just god so why must we experience so much injustice? I personally don’t want to wait for God to deliver justice in the next life or behind closed doors. Our disrespect and annihilation as a people has not been quiet, in the next life, or behind closed doors so why should I rely on justice to be the same? Where is the God of revenge? Where is the God of peace? I’ve been raised in the church my entire life so I know how this sounds and I understand if these questions make others uncomfortable. As a believer it makes me uncomfortable to question God. But if my thoughts are not His thoughts n my ways aren’t His ways, I’m pretty sure I’m allowed to have some questions. I just feel like God has always been there for me, but has He been there for my people? I can’t say I believe that, looking through history and today’s news, I feel God is not here in our midst. And if He is, I hope He decides to show up n show out ASAP. So I wrote a poem interrogating Him. Cause I wanna know where he at.

God’s Interrogation 

Here we are, holding tore up cardboard 

Frayed sides that remind you, 

Even the boxes were once something. 

Under our masks we say the names,

Of people who still are someone and something. 

Even in death.

They keep the guilty names on the tip of their tongues,

They know what happened that night. 

Why does God close His eyes when he calls a name

When he says their name

Do they have to leave immediately? 

Violently?

Unjustified? 

Does God march with us anymore? 

Did He ever? 

Was he angry in Selma? 

Was his feet tired in Washington? 

Does He have to verify He is God on a petition? 

Will He see the same videos and weep

Will He pick apart all of the hashtags to find them under the rubble of the system, 

And feel a noose creep up His throat like it was planted 

Like it’s been watered by his fear.

Does grief spout out of the hole in His face until people don’t know what they’re looking at.

Does he see how fear has been made in my image?

All tar,

All bone n marrow,

All dry blood on sheets,

All anger jolting in my veins,

My mouth too unholy to care anymore how He receives this.

Fear is a mirror too.

When we were made in His image, did he mean the image of his death? 

All tattered clothes n unjustly hung, 

Meant to be redeemed in heaven?

We have ran north before.

And found the other side of the coin we were sold for.

Does Jesus still feel the 30 pieces of silver crawl up his throat?

When he hears the jingle in his rear view mirror  and remembers every lash.  

When he prays,

When he says 

Our names,

Does it remind him of being wanted? 

Tell us, 

How many more names 

Does it take for justice to see us.

And redemption to march with us,

In this life.

thanks y’all