Every knee bowed on our neck
even when we’re right our tongue will confess
just to stay breathing.
Snakes in the grass that we’ll tread and hex that lays seething,
fake bleeding, just as a reason to decay our meaning.
The rage is heating but their passion for us stays freezing.
What’s next? Modern slavery is them open-carrying
weapons that prosper and officers that foster beatings.
Their face red as a lobster sneaking on someone black just to accost her.
Blue is the color of mobsters that fed lead
to someone innocent; she bled dead in her own ******* bed.
We could be doctors, seeking to uplift with our waters but instead,
we’re razed to the ground, wasting away in a plot
as we rot! Yet we wrought nothing in their haze.
Our offenses aren’t grave but we dance with dismay to our graves.

Only liars deny the ambition to go fishing
for what they want. The craving, the need, the haunting desires
only places you on a self-destructive and burning pyre.
You yearn for more, twisting on a mission,
wishing for the glistening gold of what you’re owed.
To move, to improve, on your flaunts
for yourself is such an everlearning taunt of wealth.
Well, when your well doesn’t get any higher
and the Sun’s hell ceases to tire,
emptiness befells the commission and buyer.
You’d sire more just to gain more,
but wouldn’t look towards your neighbors implore?
You would even bore through foreign floors
until it's all missing. Toes tucked and turning,
mouth foaming, you're an overzealous fiend for more earnings.
Your hives don’t die and you keep twitching.
Your heart keeps spinning the lies through your sleek grinning
and only the drive to buy is what keeps you alive.

You’re pushed aside and crying on repeat
with hushed lies sliding on the beat
of your hearkened heart.
You deny and deny the need to eat
with the compulsion to not buy
into the greed disguised as art.
You condemn the hate but can’t see the fake
staring back when you gaze into the lake.

Suppressed, depressed, much stress
on my chest, missing my breaths.
I frown as I drown and I’ve lost my crown,
so while I fall down I seem like a clown.
I’m the problem that I need to face
and I’ve been going at a non-existent pace.
So when my heart breaks,
does it make a sound?

Above the surface, wrath lays with reality
and doves are displaced by calamity.
Blood in my mouth, thoughts sprayed with profanity,
hugging anger in sight, when I face my vanity.
Nudged by neglect, hoping to stray from insanity,
I look to bud into the tenets of humanity.

I commend those who resist the immense desire
to liberate their anger as a friendly fire,
but with wrath, I could mend my pain.
My eyes come into nothing of vain
as this disdain leaves my bane stained.

My words fell on the deaf ears of my peers,
so when the smoke clears, I’m free from fears.
The isolation doesn’t feel foreign
so why feel for him? Why peel for him
fruit when he has no labor yet whims?
I'll take my broken heart by the hems,
a heart that lives apart, with lights dimmed,
and make it harder without barter as I’m born again.

They set us so carelessly upon the trees;
despite our wails, screams, and pleas, we
become dying fruit for the fleas.
Institutionalized and criminalized, we live a life of fear.
They sneer, jeer at the sight of us at life’s rear.
Our plight against contempt makes for a militant man
as we just try to be as real as we can.
To them, our efforts are never enough,
for them, our pain is never enough.
We strive for equality, liberty, happiness, and life.
In turn, we receive hatred, anger, and strife.
Murdered and ***** and torn next to our loved ones.
In response, we give a passion greater than the Sun’s.
All of our lives, we have had to fight.
Striking back against their wrath, destroying their blight.

They set us so wrongly upon their boat;
after we are spent, we are set to float.
I wonder about real life,
“What does it feel like?”
Torment should not be equal to pigment,
and there is nothing to warrant such abhorrent torrents.
We are not equal and never have been the same.
When we speak out, we are silenced; liberty too tamed.
They set us so harshly upon the pyre;
the extermination of desire,
the death of liberty as a killing fire.