Justin “King” Payne

I’m Goin

Justin “King” Payne

I’m goin’ back, I’m goin’ forward. I’m gone continue livin & lovin life. Nothings gone stop me. I’m goin’ back to go forward, And learn more from life’s mistakes. To see thru the black sludge of lies, And power thru with truth. The deception, written in loves blood, Drippin’ from a smiling snarl. As the ol’ folks say, “I’m goin’ thru . . .” Thru major shit if you only knew. I’m locked In a box full of invisible things -- 18 hours in a Cage. I’m goin’ from two men in a Bathroom -- can’t shit in peace, to all the peace I Need to shit freely. I’m goin’ from locked in a box To Gone With the Wind. The box that held me captive, Scattered like chaff in that very wind. Never to be remembered, never to be forgotten. Goin’ here, goin’ there, goin’

Er’where. To see the dismantling of our oppressive systems. To watch bricks fall, like leaves on a dyin’ tree. My people no longer Strange Fruit, Hanging. . . . suspended in time. Lives at a stand-still. I’m goin’ to peace, joy, love & laughter. I’m Goin’ away from misery, fear, depression & anger. Right now I’m going’ thru, But ultimately, I’m goin’ HOME.

Black, Beautiful, Bold, Dignified and Free.

Shall not fail, Will not fail.

What really does freedom look like?

Know Your Place, Take Your Place.

Will take verbal abuse for food.

Facade of Freedom for every man.

In a box fulla Invisible Things.

What’s the value of my color?

Freedom: The voluntary lie of Amerikkka!

Freedom really ain’t free no more!

Are you fighting for EVERYONE’S Freedom?

Welcome to being Black in Amerikkka!

Never to be remembered, nor Forgotten.

Affirmations in me disturb your defamations

-Justin “King” Payne

Welcome to Being Black in Amerikkka

Justin “King” Payne

I’m stuck in a land that lose us in jail cells. Death sentence for drivin’ while Black. No medical, dead on arrival -- Say her name. Sandra Bland.

A place that got my people in a choke hold physically, mentally, financially. I can’t breathe. Eric Gardner.

When I got out the hood and live good, I got blown down. Skittles, Arizona Tea, and a hoodie. My life stolen. Trevon Martin. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong skin color.

See even when I do right n work my ass off I’m still a bullet cushin. For my daughter no mo’ strolla pushin. No mo laughs n giggles wit my daughter cause right in front of her I was slaughtered. But white cops don’t go to jail. I’m just another dead nigga. Philando Castile

Mentally unstable and clearly unable to grasp the reality of life. I turned around, and you gunned me down. Aimed at the target on my back, 16 shots rang out. How many bullets it take to stop

a man walkin away from you. Take a minute to peep da scene. It’s what Amerikkka is all about. Red, white, and blue lights dance over the lifeless Black body as the police empty the clip. I’m walkin away, don’t shoot. Laquan McDonald.

They protested by kneeling for the national anthem. So to spit in Black America’s face, you kneeled on my neck for 9 minutes, 29 seconds . . . 9 minutes . . . 29 seconds. The penance for a fake $20: Death. You beat & brutalized me inside a police car before your final act. For 9 minutes, 29 seconds people pleaded for you to not kill me, to help me, to get me help . . . But for 9 minutes, 29 seconds, you publicly lynched me, a slow agonizing death. I suffered for 9 minutes, 29 seconds. My last words: “Please, I can’t breathe . . . Everything hurts.” George Floyd.

I served my Country with honor & distinction, only to be thrown to the wayside: used & forgotten. With a fragile mental state, I was left to cope with being stateside on my own. Who knew sacrificing for my Country would mean being murdered by the very ones I fought to protect . . . PTSD - Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome or Police Triggers Sentence Death. Angelo

Quinto

I was only protecting myself cause see, to be Black in

Amerikkka is to be forced to learn how to protect yoself & stay alive in a Country that again & again fails to protect us. The moment you arrived, you gunned me down. My back towards you, my face to the true assailants, you stole my life. Only 16 years old . . . you stole my entire life from me. I was only protecting myself . . . you were supposed to help me.

Ma’Khia Bryant

I wish I was seen for who I was, but in Amerikka, I was only seen as a nigger running from a crime. I was yanked out my body, murdered, thrown deeper in a class of unprotected people. I felt the whiplash of living in a country where people - white people - are suspicious of my Blackness. A lynching party was deployed to kill an innocent me. I was killed for jogging thru my own neighborhood. Ahmaud Arbrey

Asleep on my couch, my door exploded in. I never even had the chance to react. You were intruders: vile, vicious & malignant. Allegedly there for my boyfriend, with guns blazing, he was protecting home . . . protecting me. But you did it anyway . . . Pop-pop, there’s my life. Gone. Breonna Taylor

I was only 13, a kid: lost, stolen, confused. A product of my environment . . . I mean “What else did you teach me?” What do

you do when confronted with a 90 pound, 13 year old running away from you? What do you do when he turns around with his hands raised? Obviously in Amerikkka, you shoot him in the chest. You stole my life. I was only 13. Did you consider I’m misguided. Adam Toledo

The Yearning

Justin “King” Payne

There’s somethin missin in my life. Every wakin moment I think of it. I replay memories of us over and over again in my head. Us speedin down interstate 10, weavin thru traffic, only to be seen as a black and yellow blur. The warm winter nights out on the balcony watchin the magnificence of God as He wraps the South in its night blanket. The shimmer of the water, the sky changin hues of red and pink over the lake until darkness covers and the stars peek out.

I know I’ve mistreated you and took you for granted, never apologizing and still too ashamed to do it now. In my sleep, you rush to me, enveloping me in a powerful embrace. But soon as I wake, you’re gone. I’m haunted by the memories of what was and what could have been. The small things in life that we tend not to remember are burst shots in the theater of my mind: pumpin gas, grocery store runs, payin bills, goin to work - hearin the joy of children laughing.

Oftentimes I wonder if the things of old will ever be anew. Do you smell the same, will your caress of my head be just as I remember? Our most painful memory haunts me as well: your grip, your pull, your fight for me as I was stripped away from you. Now I only see your face thru a glass, pain filled eyes over a rushing waterfall. Hast thou forsaken me? While you’re so close, so close, I can see you, but to reach out. . . .