Breaking down the walls
Can be very hard....

If you break it down
Brick by brick

You have made progress
That many people will see

It takes times
To release the demons

Make the wall
Come crashing down

But if you let us
Into your hearts

Then the true
                         YOU
                                  Will be found....

I'm so sorry. I understand that racism is not cool & in fact I kinda love people who are different; but the words, not the way, old timey racists
talked are colorful as hell & sometimes they didn't even mean it; I've read accounts of writers being completely misunderstood;  
Brett Hart wrote about Chinese immigrants to bring light to their problems but it turned into a racist rallying cry & led to riots;
Stephen Foster was an abolitionist who thought his songs brought awareness to the plight of Africans in America;
another writer & artist wrote a novel to highlight the Harlem Renaissance called ****** Heaven & was pilloried;
these guys had the best intentions but someone like Twain or Conrad use the same racist terms & it's classic literature; Idk why, so I use those terms when I think they add color to a intrinsically racist situation which is not often. they don't come out of the blue cuz I'm not a racist I just like old timey words.

in postmodern times there are no movements
there is no movement; no movement
stands still in the snow & rain; his brother
the football hero for now;
the poet walks alone
beside train tracks running bio-hazard
over Christina's earth; his online Palestinian gf
his sister dates the quarterback to rare prom
queen accolades & straight-A's never a zero;
he gets in trouble for smoking & drawing
penises in Magic marker on every wall &
leaving cryptic insanity in inspired notes;
the shooter could never be a football hero;
he was in my poetry group;
he was weird but I gave him a copy of TS Eliot

A lady had a garden of oranges
oranges were green
her children were in teen

The garden was irrigated
oranges went yellow
her children needed 'fellow'

The garden entered spring
oranges got burr  
her children left her

The garden suffered autumn
though oranges were ripe
her endless tears... and nobody to wipe

The garden may love its fruits
and oranges may be orange  
but this poet wants revenge !

My past karma are so
that they make me go beyond
just being a human
while the present ones
tend to fall me from the same....
Amidst the struggle of these two
I am falling for his name..

Coming out of all the myths
the deities, the idol worships
I dared to challenge myself
to disapprove my childhood God kept on shelf

Then began the period of unrest
the soul was no more body's guest
Mind surrendered to the inside quest
and I had to pass the divine test

Though I wasn't a atheist
but for so-called God, this soul wasn't a feast
I again dared to challenge myself
this time to dismay this world's God itself

No doubt ! Almighty is there
much beyond time and thought
yet you wish to believe
believe in yourself as if you were God !

Nobody understood
those pathetic eyes
jibes all the way
unfolding luscious ties

All were gazing her
with ambiguity
but what I realized
was that inside beauty

Amidst the metro
full of lecherous in disguise
those eyes asked me
for being so nice

And these eyes of mine
closed for a moment
in respect of the inside shrine
bringing a smile on her face so divine....