America.
Home of the brave land of the-
246,6660,710 white americans
living in this country,
which accounts for 77% of our population
but Black Americans
only make up 13%
and somehow in 2015
were killed at a rate 5x higher than whites.

Lovely, wonderful free land of America
Where 37% of black americas
were killed by police in the year 2015.
And out of the 102 cases
of unarmed black men being killed
only 10 police were charged
only 2 were convicted.
Only one spent jail time-
one WHOLE year of weekend come and goes.

Oh America-
Where colleges would rather
cover up a ****, than catch a ******.
Where High Schools take pity
on abusers who play sports
or have a high social standing-
Where abusers don't get charged
because the girl they *****
was "intoxicated".
Where 4/5 of assaults are committed
by someone known to the victim.
44% of victims are under 18
and every 107 seconds another PERSON
is sexually assaulted
and 68% go unreported
and 98% of rapists will never spend a day in jail.
and I know I mentioned this in the last poem
but Brock Turner, I'm looking at you.
But not in the eyes-
I don't want you to think I want it or anything.

America!
Where said white male ******
only gets two-six months in jail
and a man selling CDs in front of a gas station
gets four shots to the chest.
But instead of asking
why he got shot,
they pull up his criminal record-
because you guys, I thought you knew
committing a crime automatically
qualifies you for ******!
But the white rapists
swim record gets pulled up
his mug shot gets hidden
and his social stature gets him sympathy.
But some people see Alton Sterling's son
distraught on a TV screen and feel no remorse
I'M NOT ******* AROUND ANYMORE.

America.
Where again
the people who are supposed
to protect us-
just end up killing us.
By us I mean people
and by that I mean "All Lives Matter"
because ya know
more whites get killed by cops too!!!

America.
Where white people make up 77%
of this lovely population
and black people only make up 13%
so it would make sense
that more whites die.
Even though statistically that's inaccurate
(please see first paragraph of this poem).

America!
That reminds me
We're home of the All Lives Matter movement
because white superiority
is being called into question
and we like to think white supremacy
doesn't exist anymore!

"Why do black people
have such a chip on their shoulder all the time?"
"Can't they just like, idk- get over it?"
They will get over it
When racism doesn't exist anymore
and they can do everyday tasks
without experiencing discrimination.
They will get over it
when people don't see their skin as a threat
and use the "n-word" like it means nothing.
They will get over it
when they can receive a fair trial
They will get over it
when systematic oppression
isn't etched into their amount of melanin
They will get over it
when justice is ******* served.

America-
where the idea of blacks being inferior
is what the constitution and this country
was built off of.
Where people like Tomi Lahren
obviously don't own a history book
because she likes to think
the civil war was fought
to actually end slavery.
Instead of beefing over turf.

America-
home of the brave land of the-
Trump supporters!
& as Trump Says-
Let's Make America Great Again!
I'm sorry, I'm having trouble remembering
can you remind me-
when this country was ever actually great?
It seems like he actually means-
Let's Make America A Grave Again.

Hey America-
I'm not ******* around anymore.

I'm sitting fist to chest
Chest to fist
And remembering
Every single other time
My reality has played this moment
Over and over inside of my mind
Until the ticking of my watch
Makes me throw it at the wall.

I'm tired of wasted time
I'm tired of the wasted nights
I spent wasted
Cause you took my body
And didn't care about wasting it
For what was under your waist

And then I had to wait-
Fostering the memory
Under security blankets my mind
Laid out for me so nice like.
So ******* pretty I didn't want to touch them.
But they started getting *****
I just wanted to wash them clean
But you know what happens
When you finally look under the old
Dusty ***** rug.
You find some ****
You would've rather not seen.

I saw some **** there
My mind would've rather not ******* seen.
But memory just had to pick up the **** blankets
And memory had to start a fire.
It walked away when I needed it most
and now I'm the one left
Trying to smother the flames.
Alcohol only made it grow
And the blankets I try to throw over it now
Just caught fire like everything else.

It's still burning,
But the bad weather
Followed by the good.
Helped it die down a bit.
I can manage them here and now
Still appreciating
the warmth it brings me.
Still appreciating
the strength it gave me.
But I have too many burns now
To ever trust this fire again.

memory left me scars
cuts and bruises-
Followed by a tainted liver.
It was the warm gun
and it pulled the trigger
more than once.
Every time it did
everything
went up in flames.
Except for me.
Except for me.

these hands are too small, too paper thin again
they are almost translucent, and it's a nuisance
to hang this noose around my neck-
seems the seams of this design
I have designated to myself
have withered away amongst men
who have too much malice,
they do not belong inside of my head
get me out of here, get them out of here.

It is dead-
the fuel inside of me that flickers
and burns for your embrace.
it is dead once more.
Twice more I found you-
exposing your true colors
seems three is too many chances to be given
so why is there a fourth?

Why are these paper thin hands
inclined to crumbled amongst love
and disintegrate at the mere loss of it.
I'm having trouble understanding
what it means to feel love.
It is etched inside of closet doors
and dark corners.
Painted out in broken glass
upon my kitchen floor
and masked by male privilege.

I wish I wouldn't have-
became who I am for you.
I wish I wouldn't have gone through so much
maybe then we could live in naivety together
maybe then the lines between us
wouldn't be so etched inside black
turned inside out by your lack of trauma
or my extensive experience with it.

I'm beginning to think
I am more of your problem
than solution
and maybe that is why your mind
traveled elsewhere.
Made it's way into another's home
but still somehow invaded my resting place.
I don't want to share your substance-
but I still feel in competition.

Drowning under the pressure
that you put upon my shoulders
I'm trying to be who you want me to be.
But it will never be enough for you
I'm slowly losing my sanity.
The building blocks
that make me who I am
are lost now
you hid them all behind resentment-
you can find the real me there.
Too bad you'll never go looking,
too bad I don't have to strength to either.

My teeth scratch the surface of your skin and bones,
but there is not enough quick wit to shed your exoskeleton.
You will not expose yourself to me-
too fearful of the outcome and so am I.

I try to think myself into happiness,
imagine days by your side
where we can both be skeletons-
just totally exposed
and open with one another.

But you are too afraid of my teeth-
too fond of my tongue and cheek
you do not desire whats inside of me.
Only a preconceived idea of what we should be.
I'm having trouble figuring myself out.
I was never good at anatomy.

These fingers have become chilled to the bone
but you are not sure how to handle it anymore.

This wordplay becomes daunting
and this second-hand second guessing
is too tiring to keep trying for.
Why don't you just tell me how you feel?
why don't I do the same for you?

The lack there of
has never been an issue
until I started seeing inside of you
wondering if yours matches mine
wondering if your just abiding by time-
spending it with me so you're not lonely.

Connection is subjective-
so why am I always wrong in your eyes?
You tell me you love me,
I don't believe you on most days.
I tell you I love you,
I don't believe myself on most days.

But these days, like my limbs
bend and they break
and crack under all of this pressure
all of this unknown
all of this weight I try to carry.
So I'm not sure you quite understand me.

Birthed from privilege and happy-
you have not seen what I have seen
and so our insides look a lot differently
Seems I have seen them now,
turned myself inside out
to see you from a different
point of view-
and
I don't recognize
who you are anymore.

your critique mimics
the chills down my spinal chord.
I've had an ache for weeks now-
seems there's not enough stretching myself thin
to rid of the pain in my neck now.  
your lips form lashes around my tongue
and it seems I have acid sores
encompassing my lips
because everything you say to me is so toxic.
Your mouth is a battery,
you won't stop running it-
seems it recharges itself.
Seems I cannot throw it away-
it would harm too many others.

Standing in front of you I feel weak,
a version of myself I do not recognize.
Seems I was never strong enough to stand up to you-
so I backed down.
Time and time again
hiding how I feel for your benefit.

It's a shame whenever someone comes around
I wince, afraid you will use your acid tongue
to weather them down
and form rust stains out of their smile.
Most days, I clench my fists
ready to be a shield in their wake.
Most days, that's a mistake.

The high horse
you build your house upon
has grown higher-
you built it that way.
You look down at everything
and bask in the glory of your accomplishments.
The materialistic glow of your youth
shines down upon my face-
but you are not looking at me in awe.
You do not consider me something worthy
of your appreciation.
It seems you think you owe it to yourself
to be nothing less than egotistical,
you grew yourself this way.
Built it from the ground up
so treat it as you wish.

Your way is the only value.
My words are meek inside your muddy waters-
your mindset is clouded again.
I am the rain upon your parade.

Addiction runs in your blood
without something
you fall apart.
All I ever wanted
was for you to be better-
you can never give me that.
You give me a complex instead.

Read this back again,
come back to it and realize
that us women always marry our fathers.
and I can't decide which this poem is about-
I think it's my Father,
but it could also be
every man I have ever loved.

I'm still trying to find love
in between the lines I write
but I only find the past-
the one where love didn't exist
seems it's not enough anyway.
I can't find love
when you show it to my blindside
you don't even care to move in the right direction.
Let me get over-
you.

didn't take long before the toxicity filled your mouth
and I'm not talking about all the cigarettes you smoke-
I'm not referring to the blow you once had up your nose.
The leech has reached your lips-
you said this was the last time
but I know just like all the others that was a lie.
You cannot fool the girl who analyzes for a living
who hides under her rock and watches as people **** up.
She's social but doesn't leave her head space
so she can see right through the strides you think you take
and the love you think you're making
but instead of savioring what you think is special
you are destroying your insides.
Breath it out, stop it from consuming your body-
you're aloud to run away without question
you shouldn't have to make excuses anymore.

A friend of mine clings to toxic things
and not the drink and drugs and designer clothing
but the girl with the long hair
who dresses like she owns the night
only just to ruin his.
I wish he could see right through this-
but he doesn't want to feel so alone
inside of a city so big.
He's not so sure what home feels like anymore
so he uses her for comfort
when all she's doing is making his heart fail.
And he could never even tell the difference.

Dissect me again
remind me I have a backbone
and insides that no one else sees.
Take away my ego,
and breathe life into me.
It was nice to know
what knowing felt like.
Too lacking control,
and not enough self-awareness.
Maybe that is where the cut line should start.
Right down the middle of me,
so every inch is exposed.
Seems you are staring down
who my insides have made me.
I am scared it was not what you pictured.
I am always scared that I am too much for people.
Most days, I'm too much for myself.

Stitch me up,
remind me I am okay the way I am.
Analyze me until
the self-awareness reaches my limbs
and I look in the mirror and see myself like I once used to.

You have a knack for making me feel things unknown-
tapped into a place inside I hadn't yet discovered.
Explore with me?