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“Take off your clothes.” this is a ***** and devoted clan “I’ll be there,” he said. “Early.” he is slavery’s plantation overseer. of his medals he cherishes one A ***** BOY WHISTLED AT HER AND THEY KILLED HIM the back of his home is a tool house. they turned south on Mississippi No. 1 there was no moon as they drove. there had been no denial he’s tired o’ livin’, Chicago Boy, tired o’ sendin’ your kind down here don’t disapprove enough of them. resist the revolt of colored men they turned south on Mississippi No. 1. they filled him so full of poison that he was hopeless “I’m not afraid of you.” they included sons, grandsons and a nephew of Moses. his body bears multiple shrapnel wounds. close range killing “he ain’t got good sense” nobody was holding him. he was as tough as they were hypocrisy exposed; myth dispelled for the first time – the story no jury heard he looked like a man, Chicago Boy this is the sum of the facts A ***** “CHILD” WHISTLED AT HER AND THEY KILLED HIM he had heard of the trouble. he wanted to go home dark-visaged, talkin’ mighty big. he staggered under its weight… dark-visaged, he stood there naked. carried it to the river bank stand him up there on that bluff. mark him for a coward and a fool here are the facts just whip him, Brother, if that won’t scare Chicago Boy it was Sunday morning, a little before seven. here, for the first time, I’ll pay you for the damages they tried dirt and gravel roads, drove along the levee here for the first time, I didn’t think they’d **** a boy if that won’t scare Chicago Boy, hell won’t “You still as good as I am?” for three hours that morning, there was a fire I’ll blow your head off, Chicago Boy pistol whipping bruises more than it cuts Chicago Boy, Chicago Boy I’m no bully, Chicago Boy Brother, whip him, shine the light on down Brother, the Big River bends around. the real answer is the remarkable part “I’m as good as you are.” seventy-two hours later – eight miles downstream the half in their fraternity was forgotten.
0
Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
chicago boy
“Take off your clothes.” this is a ***** and devoted clan “I’ll be there,” he said. “Early.” he is slavery’s plantation overseer. of his medals he cherishes one A ***** BOY WHISTLED AT HER AND THEY KILLED HIM the back of his home is a tool house. they turned south on Mississippi No. 1 there was no moon as they drove. there had been no denial he’s tired o’ livin’, Chicago Boy, tired o’ sendin’ your kind down here don’t disapprove enough of them. resist the revolt of colored men they turned south on Mississippi No. 1. they filled him so full of poison that he was hopeless “I’m not afraid of you.” they included sons, grandsons and a nephew of Moses. his body bears multiple shrapnel wounds. close range killing “he ain’t got good sense” nobody was holding him. he was as tough as they were hypocrisy exposed; myth dispelled for the first time – the story no jury heard he looked like a man, Chicago Boy this is the sum of the facts A ***** “CHILD” WHISTLED AT HER AND THEY KILLED HIM he had heard of the trouble. he wanted to go home dark-visaged, talkin’ mighty big. he staggered under its weight… dark-visaged, he stood there naked. carried it to the river bank stand him up there on that bluff. mark him for a coward and a fool here are the facts just whip him, Brother, if that won’t scare Chicago Boy it was Sunday morning, a little before seven. here, for the first time, I’ll pay you for the damages they tried dirt and gravel roads, drove along the levee here for the first time, I didn’t think they’d **** a boy if that won’t scare Chicago Boy, hell won’t “You still as good as I am?” for three hours that morning, there was a fire I’ll blow your head off, Chicago Boy pistol whipping bruises more than it cuts Chicago Boy, Chicago Boy I’m no bully, Chicago Boy Brother, whip him, shine the light on down Brother, the Big River bends around. the real answer is the remarkable part “I’m as good as you are.” seventy-two hours later – eight miles downstream the half in their fraternity was forgotten.
this is a "found" poem using lines/phrases from the magazine article that gave the "true account" of Emmett Till's ****** I did it for class and idk I like it sort of. none of these words are mine - only the order.
mayrow
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Sep 19, 2014
Sep 19, 2014 at 12:35 AM UTC
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