Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Jun 2016 Joven Rosencrantz
Keren
I saw broken pieces scattered at the corner.

I picked each one.
Piled them up.
I put them all together.
It was challenging tho.
It was broken, crashed awfully.
Hard to find the right pieces
To place on the right places
But I was awestruck.
After a long try.
Finally, the pieces were beautifully stitched.



The broken pieces were her heart.
Ramdom
Darling do you hear me scream?
AND AT THIS VERY MOMENT
I CAME BACK TO WHERE I WANT TO BELONG
I KEEP REMEMBERING THIS PLACE
AND SO I WAIT
HOPE
PRAY
CRY
LOVE
LOVE
LOVE
.
.
.
I CARVE MY LOVE WITH A STONE
I KNOW IT WILL FADE
BUT STILL
.
.
.
THIS PLACE REMEMBER
 May 2016 Joven Rosencrantz
Meg B
And somehow I have
slipped into a state where
my dreams were realities and
my realities will be my dreams...
 May 2016 Joven Rosencrantz
Lee
Dear white boys in my class
I hear your whisper
I see your fingers pointing
I see the way your thin lips curl into a smile when I mess up

Dear white boys in my white class
When I raise my hand it’s because I have an answer
Don’t mistake it for a request to be your servant

Dear white boys in my class
You think you’re smart huh?
You think you’re the bravest?
You think you have the most history?
I’d hate to burst your small white bubble but it’s about time you got a true history lesson

Dear white boy in my class
You say my hair blocks knowledge to my brain
Well remember when you got a 13 on the ACT
Yeah who got the 32….oh right not you

Dear white boys in my class
You say because you took your friend back to the “hood” you’re brave
That you were the minority so you know what it feels like to be me
Well dear white boys in my class
You don’t know anything!
You live in a world where you make pit stops when you wanna feel “ethnic”

Newsflash this isn’t ethnic this is my life
One I wish to get away from
Because my world is full of gun shots and drunk family members
Of young black boys pictures hung up in church
But you say my struggles don’t count
That because it’s normal it’s not brave
And you’re right

Dear white boys in my class
The bravest thing I’ve ever done in my life is what you call a right
The right to an education
To wake up and go to school where everyone is against me
Because my voice is different
Because my skin is deeper
Because I’m too loud

Dear white boys in my class
You think you’re history is the richest huh?
You only think that because it’s all they teach
Let’s go back to when you were the refugees
And my grandmother’s tribe was nice enough to take you in
Your payment: ******

Dear white boys in my class
It has been engraved in your mind
That since all the books in school look like you they must be right
Must be holy
Must be the standard
Well dear white boys in my class
You say you’re the standard
Yet my scores matter more on standardized tests

Dear white boys in my class
It must **** to have the one thing you’re “good” at to be taken by the black kids
***** to have all you ever worked for dragged away
I would know
It’s my life
First line in my autobiography is
“I worked hard to show I could do it, but forced to write another name on it”

Dear white boys in my class
Why do you assume that the only way to end your problem is to **** us?
Dear white boys in my class
My name is not Keisha
My name is not Jaden
My name is Trayvon Martin
My name is Michael Brown
My name is officer I can’t breathe
My name is silence

Dear white boys in my class
On graduation day
When we stand next to each other
I want you feel my presence
I want you to see my glow
See the pride I bare on my face
And stand behind the one you tried, but couldn’t hold back
Today I cannot write,
my soul crawling in  misery
I have a lump in my throat
and all I can do is fight the wish
to cut it out.

At the end of my fingertips
the words are dying
as I touch them with my red nails
and in my mind I am slowly realising
that the world is not the place
where I belong.

I'm a misfit,
a creep ,
my ugliness  building walls in my soul,
my eyes are bleeding,
while in my heart I am still wondering
whether I deserve to be loved.

upon myself the sky cries
icy teardrops
cracking up my brain
my skin hurts
and in my soul
the answer to my question is a big NO.

*No, love will never find its road towards my soul.
Next page