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Man Mar 2021
you leave your home
because of oppression
and in your new country
you flourish, doing well in this life

generations on
they have forgotten your struggles
as they learned hate
they have forgotten their origins
as they learned what it is
to be the xenophobe
to be the oppressor

to see your triumphs tarnished

you begotten fortunates
taking all you have for granted
slanted views, courtesy of that you've been taught
so some say it isn't your fault
but we know better, eh?
all your wealth could not stuff the gaping maw
that your soul cries out to fill
and so this is what you reap
when seeds of suffering do you sow
Snam Mar 2021
The Jezebel
Screamth, Not I.
My ******* though dun
Nay, not I.

Forbidden from silence
Banned from breath
The words come spilling
Manned by wrath

My heart lies with you
Of the sorrow that’s within
Fate comes unwilling
Betraying our last wish

Thy spirit soars
Well past the hourglass
And you think I’m thankful
For what is beholden

But again, I say
Not I, not I
My hairs be wires
What belies compare

Beauty without beholder
Leaves room for the wilder

Dame, pretention knows no bounds
Hate hold thy ground
Tyler Matthew Mar 2021
It is one thing to advocate for equality, representation, and unity.
Indeed, each is an inalienable, fundamental right.
But it is a whole new beast to lay waste
to anything that frightens you or that challenges your beliefs,
or that simply does not mirror your very own ideologies.
How heavy the hand of tyranny that now lays across our mouths,
yet how light our opposition.
Though I do acknowledge the delicacy of the issue at hand,
the fragility of the minds of hysterical mobs
who resolve to smashing windows in blind anger,
who ***** out free thought in daft castigation,
or who ban books even, it seems, like those monsters of history
to which they declare themselves to be diametrically opposed-
even in light of that, it is no excuse
to remain subservient to senseless autocrats
and the absurd legislations they bludgeon us with near daily.
To do this – to do nothing - is to lay down and die
without dignity, spineless and shameful,
though it seems that only myself and a handful of others
can recognize this.  Indeed, how easy it is to glimpse from the fringes.
I, a man of only twenty-seven years, do not recognize you, America.
I long for the days of comfort (so far removed from them, I am)
when I could safely retreat into the lofty and quiet halls of my mind
to enjoy a self-assuring thought that only I created -
a thought with no real purpose but to occupy me for a time,
to entertain me in my moments of dull apathy.
Now I shudder in a cold and contrived prison of vetted words
and unnegotiated mandates where I am told
to wrap myself in our flag to keep warm, to feel safe,
that this is for my own good.
I do not recognize you, America, for this thing you have become.
Brittany Ann Jan 2021
How does
one single person
change
the world,
their country,
when the world,
their country,
finds comfort
in their
oppressive ignorance?
Brittany Ann Jan 2021
It says,

“For all have sinned

and fall short of the glory of God!”

So, I ask you,

just how much have

I sinned in comparison

to the pedestal you

set yourself upon?

How much have I plummeted

beneath our great Lord's

merciful feet,

when I dare to challenge

the oppression of earth's

white-man evangelist bigotry?

I ask you,

most wise and knowledgeable

devoter,

just how far do I fall

from the Lord our God's

reaches of heaven

when I have questioned

on the magnitude

of our fellow man's

prejudice and injustice,

and you have not?
S Jan 2021
You scan me
With your Western eye
Standing tall, clinging
To your elitist lie.

With your righteous mission,
You desire is to teach me,
Yearning for my submission,
Refusing to free me.

The lies you tell yourself
Do not deceive me;
You claim to make me more,
While forcing less of me.

More?
More ‘educated’
More ‘cultured’
More ‘literate’
More Western.

More you, less me.

The volume of my voice
Is not primitive, nor savage
It is my culture, my heritage,
Which you have ravaged.  

My culture, my language,
My education, my literature,
Are slowly eradicated
By the standards of worth
You have dictated.

My language is not irrelevant,
Nor menacing.
It is my heritage, my legacy,
Tainted by your supremacy;
It is not powerful as Athena,
Rather it burns with the fiery
Passion of Nuha.

I will not be silenced,
I will not lightly tread,
For those who fake alliance,
Whilst wishing me dead.
Talia Jan 2021
To you, their rights
are a minority priority

You're entitled, spoon fed
Gorged with greed
a coralling disease

Dormancy
a fence that protects you,

but a barbed wire noose
                           wrapped
                           round their throats.

You're just another ring
in the chains of oppression
just needed to be said really. saddened by the inaction of humankind.
tried to play around a bit with formatting.
Philomena Jan 2021
Another day, another systematic nightmare
Commemorate a wonderful life
Bite me first, I'll bite you back
Melodramatic laughter
I stabbed a knife in my eye
Think I'm out my ******* mind
Brainwashed and I'm feeling fine
Destroy yourself it feels too good to fade away
Why, do I want to hurt myself?
Should I die for something else?
I let my conscience get in the way

Obey
We hope you have a lovely day
Obey
You don't want us to come out and play
Away, now now
There's nothing to see here
It's under control
We're only gambling with your soul
Obey
Whatever you do, just don't wake up and smell the corruption
Sabika Dec 2020
Who knew that this scarf on my head
Could make the rope that will tie my noose?
Who knew that this stone that
Kisses my forehead could turn into
The ammunition to crack my skull?
Who knew that my loose clothes could
Let in enough air to tear it from my body?
Who knew that my enemies would have the power to define me, judge me and sentence me?
Who knew that love would label me guilty?
This poem is about the oppression that Shia Muslims face not only by non-Muslims but also by other Muslim sects. It’s hard enough to be a Muslim, let alone a Shia.
Sarah Dec 2020
Once, the story goes
A few decades or so ago
In a land of silence
A few people gathered to roar
Pity,
All they wanted was to make a sound
To read a poem, and sing aloud
Once, the story goes
A few decades or so ago
Silence was pierced for a brief moment
And scarlet red stained the ground.
Sometimes the price of objection is death.

To all those who lost their lives trying to object, may their souls rest in peace.
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