We ain’t sitting at the back of the bus no more
We are sitting in those high backed vinyl seats…
In the middle of the bus
Those high backed vinyl seats that are sticking to our backs
Not allowing us to rise
And move
And walk to the front of the bus
To get off the bus all together
We should want to drive ourselves…
Further from the more subtle ways that we are wounded daily
Make things deeper than the reasons we still riot 
when one of us is shot down in the street
Or chased down the street
Or beaten in the street
Why are we still in the street?
Rather we need to make ourselves understand 
why things happen just the same as when we were moving on up
And laws were passed
Passed only to be passed over 
when no one is willing to fight for their enforcement 
until it directly affects them
We have seemingly stopped mid-stride
In the middle of the aisle
To enjoy the scenery that this slightly improved view has allowed us
And we have become content
Content with our purchasing “power”
Content to send our children to universities but not to be educated
Content to be second class citizens riding in a little bit more luxury
But second class nonetheless
This life has become the habit of surviving
Doing no more than breathing 
and passing the years in a state of constant stagnation
And the wheels turn
And we are trapped under them
Screaming only when the pain gets a little bit too intense
And the injustices seem to pick up speed
And the drivers are doing everything they can to jostle us from our place…
To put us back in our place
Sadly we go willingly at times
Because riding at all is more comfortable than making it on our own
But the fare is too high
Too rich for our blood…
that is spilled
And splattered
And labeled inferior
These spaces
and boxes
and roles are too narrow to contain us
We must leave
Learn to stretch our limbs toward the suns and moons
We must walk…
away on our own…