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Here are two poems my little brother, K10, wrote:

She burned sage in hope that the smoke would float
Higher than the rains to forever cleanse the pain.
And the smoke just drifted from my nose,
With prayer and tears of memory.
But perhaps all was too late as fate would inform them,
In the wee hours as showers and kettles and coffee pots steamed,
Ritual hours of coffee and tea.
A man with a plan, vowed to never see light again.
And he did it~ did this man.
He went through with his plan.
And my uncle found this man dead this morning.
Damn.

Ken10
10.24.05

My cousin~
Suicide took his life,
Not homicide that took his life.
Alone was left his wife.
Clutching his picture to his side.
His father left to wonder.
His mother left to wonder.
His sister left to wonder.
Our family left to wonder.
Black men aren't supposed to die by suicide,
Black men aren't supposed to die unless it's homicide,
Black men aren't supposed to die- it's genocide.
If he did it, he meant it.
If he did it, it was a statement.
He did it.
He stated it.
My cousin killed himself today.
My cousin killed a part of us today.
My cousin killed any hope of seeing the next day.
Tomorrow today will be yesterday and I pray.
Tomorrow I'll say my cousin killed himself yesterday and I'll pray.

Ken10
10.24.05