a letter unread is left outside the door
like a snare of anxiety
left to uproot all security in bone.
hanging heads-
hung themself;
what difference does it make
when choosing different hells.

what can i do?
a poem lamenting their anguish
so i can feel proud
to have whispered a word:
justice to the oppressed and undeserved.
what power lies in my hands
to give to those with none-
a transfusion of privilege;
one couldn't even dream it to be possible-

once diversity is blanketed in white
like harsh winter,
we will starve of life itself
and weep for days void of color.