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Alison Chomsky Feb 2017
Close the borders,
Do not let them in.
They might **** us all,
Those foreign families of sin.

Strip away their rights,
Put a gun under their chin.
Base our civil law,
On the color of their skin.

Go ahead and touch them,
After all, they didn’t say no.
The courts won’t do a thing,
But laugh and let you go.

Women have no say at all,
Their bodies aren’t their own.
We don’t care if you were *****,
Pro-life we loudly condone.

This is our society now,
Ignorance pollutes the air.
Respect for all human beings,
Disappeared without a care.

I admit these times are scary,
And some hope may now be lost.
But he won't get away with this,
Not at any miniscule cost.

So please, I beg you, do not fear,
The battle now begins.
You will lose Donald J. Trump,
And LOVE will always win.
I attended a rally today at my school that was protesting Trump's ban on Muslim immigrants. These are just some thoughts.
Alison Chomsky Jan 2017
i. I don’t know your favorite color but I know you love the blue-green complexion of the ocean washing up on the beige grains of sand; the reds, oranges, and yellows of the leaves softly and swiftly falling to the ground at the close of autumn; the green blades of grass blowing calmly with the summer wind; the golden brown shimmer of my eyes caught in passing rays of sunlight.

ii. Sometimes I try counting the scars on your body as if they were the stars lighting up the beautiful night sky. I find that each one, like a single star in a constellation, makes you more beautiful than the last.

ii.b. Stars are dead, their light only a mere representation of what once actually was. Your scars are evidence that you are a part of the human experience; death is proof of life. Your story is one that I can’t put down.

iii. Your melody meets my ears like the soft waves of summer meet the shoreline. Your voice, a love song with all the right notes, engulfs me entirely. You are a ballad I play endlessly. Sometimes I think my ears can only hear your symphony. I get lost in your voice.

iv. The touch of your hand warms mine as if it’s a crackling fire in the dead of winter; a flame I find complete comfort in. I wonder if two things have ever fit together so perfectly before.

iv.b. Two things have never fit together so perfectly before.

v. You are a home made up of muscles, skin, and bones. Your presence is reminiscent of lazy nights on the beach and long car rides with the music blasting; I am at ease whenever I am with you. I am safe. I am home.

...I can try all I want to describe your love but no words that I say will ever do it justice.

— The End —