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Naptural Mermaid Nov 2014
To those who protest on why they should say the word *****
Unfollow me

To those whose heart does not mourn over an innocent life of POC
Unfollow me

To those who yell "go back to Africa"
Unfollow me
if you cannot comprehend that your ancestors where not here first

To those who fail to understand their white privilege
Unfollow me

To those who scream out "what about black on black crime"
Unfollow me
If you're blind to the multiple genocide your people create and label as "war"

To those who simply choose to ignore this injustice
Unfollow me for no action at all is the greatest injustice of all
adam hicks Aug 2013
this is for the queer kids
who are taught their ABC's
but not their L's, G's, B's and T's
for the Russian government and the I.O.C
who deny Russian queers their visibility
to the people who call me "******"
i wear your name-calling like a pink triangle
stitched to my sleeve
for the Harvey Milk's, the Christine Burns'
and every queer in between
to the allies who do more than say
"your sexuality is okay with me"
for the Jamaican trans* teen
who was murdered needlessly
to the television networks
who portray LGBT individuals positively
for the radical queers
the POC queers
the genderqueers
the queers who have felt excluded
this is for you
for us
this is a celebration
and an ultimatum
we are here
we are queer
& we will do more
than survive.
Harriet Maguire Jul 2014
Like Pocahontas,
(But with saddle bags).
Center parting.
White jeans,
Grey staffy,
(Not hers, but still).
Great Western.
Whistles & high viz.
"Change back"
Waving from the back of a bus.
Short tempered,
In a **** dress.
Between the pair of them.
Sorry that was my father talkin'
"They might check it on the train?"
Velcro ****
Excuse me.
jcc  May 2015
about race
jcc May 2015
oh, back in civil rights times
i would have been right
beside you fighting...
oh, what the hell you mean?
there-s no such thing as
racist police,
the conversation
should be about
black-on-black violence...
besides if he pulled up his pants
he wouldn-t have been profiled then
sure, mlk was killed in a suit,
but he was speakin' wild, man...
oh, and besides, i don-t see race,
i have colorblindness...
except if a poc gets a job over me,
then that-s the only
reason why they hired him...
why do we talk about racism,
it doesn-t exist, for
godssake can-t you see we have
a black president...
oh, please don-t play the race-card,
besides no one is more discriminated
against than we are...
oh, blacks shouldn-t say the n-word,
just cuz of how dreadful it sounds
oh, since we are best friends
can i say '*****' now, huh?
you won-t let me say it???
that-s discrimination! things are
different now, you are no longer
in enslavement...
catch up with this nation,
catch up with the times,
this isn-t about race,
why don-t you admit it?
just because i-m white doesn-t
mean i have privilege...
i mean open your eyelids,
i know blacks never got
indentured servitude
but for a second,
can we focus on the irish?
they suffered too, even if they
won-t subjected to
the same ****, kidnapping,
mental breakdown to force subjugation,
and violence.
sure we always ostracized black people
but y-all put y-allselves on an island
y-all will get more respect if y-all just
stop embracing your race, your heritage
stop calling yourselves black
and african-american,
just call yourselves american
stop complaining,
and just be silent
i don-t like talking about race
so much controversy surrounds it...
you know the only way to stop
racism is just don-t talk about it.
i adopt the language of a typical bigot who does not realize he or she is a bigot to sarcastically lay waste to common talking points about racism
Lilla May 20
This is America
Where it is legal to **** a trans or lgbtq person
This is America
Where POC fear just going for a run or speaking
This is America
Where our president is a known ****** predator
This is America
Where only 6% of the monsters go to jail
This is America
Where I'm ashamed to be
This is America
Where I hate to be
I'm ashamed to be here, I really am
i don't have a poem, but a plea.

hello poetry is an escape from real life for a lot of us, me included, but real life needs us right now.

the #blacklivesmatter movement is louder than ever and if you're not a person of color, or if you are but you also benefit from the system in place that depends on the destruction of black and brown people, now is your time to stand up.

stand with those at the protests, use your voice, your platform, your privilege to raise up your fellow black voices. and educate yourself on whats going on if you haven't already, because this is just the beginning.

this is global now. all over the world people in countries like UK, Germany, Canada, and many others are taking to the streets in a peaceful protest of the ****** of Georgoe Floyd, and so so many other Black men and women. a protest of the blatent police brutality in cities all over the world, brutality that mainly targets black skinned and brown skinned people. a protest for real honest ******* change, that will ripple through country to country.

this is a revolution. do not be silent.

go out and protest if you can. donate to the georgefloyd gofundme, to the bail outs for the protesters who were wrongfully arrested. spread awareness where you can. lift up black and other poc voices, and don't give up.
our words are so powerful, this site has proven that for so many of us, so lets use them for good
Filmore Townsend  Feb 2013
Filmore Townsend Feb 2013
my loves, the many accumulated mn-
eumonic responses play'd on future
women. ideas based on the poiv-
rottes of idealized affectation past.
cesspools emptied by the horse-tanks
with stelth in the night, but the-
re couldn't be much stealth for a target
reeking of **** and convalescence.
sadness and that odor would
hang heavy in the first cold rains
of winter. transplanting thoughts,
always transplanted emotions of
subjugation. she was waiting for
someone, this now past but once
future poivrotte. feet to be
knock'd from under, body to find
lulling embrace. mind the levitat-
ing affect. mind, the missing
portion of our feint'd love.
  - I was always empty and
    both sad and happy
with a third-class train ride, at
mon poivrottes' expense of mentality.
we could used to lay together talk-
king in adult tones through our
child mouths. remembering to poc-
ket fruit to retain our breakfast
from freezing. speaking no truer
words than those utter'd while
embraced. words from the mou-
ths of us children. truer words
never could be counterfeit, never
could be spoken without loss of
conscience. Cezanne-dreams of color,
Impressionist subconscious,
j'adore mon poivrottes. feasting of mo-
vement and staining all around with
the strong cafe au lait. follow'd aper-
itif, following digestifs, following back
to lie. to flow words from our child mo-
uths, we would walk paths through the
woods in the Autumn twilight. the trees
were sculptures having their leaves
stripped bare. walking alongside, we walk'd
ourselves down the same separate path.
blackmarketcat Jun 2015
my poetry is the collective punishment of a people
it is the oil pump on the tarmac
while an air traffic controller jerks it on his lunch break
it is the starving animals
let alone the people
it is the land from natives we have taken by force
it is the gold we use to make ourselves better than others
it is the loans we use to control
the images we use to propagandise
it is the coldness of the one who knows but cannot teach because of their own emotion
it is the inability to form a clear and coherent sentence because of anxiety
it is the constant beatdown of competition
you're worse, you're worse
until you resign (******* POC)
it is towing the government line
or power for that matter
it is the meaning all lost to the madness
of a poem that has been imprisoned
in a far off place where no powerful thought can reach
in my room
unable to sleep, or be consistent
or be offered a job
having to learn to be dishonest, to be an actor
to keep the oil leak under wraps
to maintain the PR disasters that never were
to be the illness in me
Jennifer  Jan 2018
Jennifer Jan 2018
1 An aura radiates from her
2 I see red, yellow
3 Swinging her soft sepia shaded hair
4 She turns to look at me
5 Enticing ebony eyes
6 Beautiful brown, bare skin
7 A gorgeous woman
8 She smiles so slowly
9 Passionate, prosperous, perfect
10 She’s so perfect
11 The highlight on her nose
12 And cheekbones
13 They shine so bright
14 Red, like love
15  Intelligence is immune
16  To the ignorance that surrounds her
17  A woman of color
18  Never knew anything other than
19  “Sit straight, speak up, stop,
20  Shake it off”
21  Knew nothing but struggle
22  Yellow, like the sun
23  Beauty beams bright
24  Long lasting light
25  She stands strong.
J J Aug 2019
the boy has a match
                       in his back poc ket. hovering
                                                     janky steps
                                             sheathed by fluffy ice
                       chest reverb erates
as a single rain drop
                                   trickled in pinful loop...
not wanting to be burnt but he rations
      not wanting anything at all.
in destroying one makes                                something

                    whence once

     there was                                                       nothing. he

s t r i k e s the match aflame and alive,
         w ering it fit to spread
and surely cause his life some havoc... havoc...
                               H A V O C

   he ruminates the meaning of the word a while
and settles
    on it being better than boring old nothing.
Yes,I've read e.e cummings,why do you a
sk ? ?
camrie  Feb 2019
camrie Feb 2019
I never even knew I was different. And by different I mean not white.
My mom has green eyes and light skin with freckles. She has brown hair that beautifully sprouts white strands sometimes, but she's never not beautiful. Or never not has green eyes, or light skin with freckles.

I have brown skin. No freckles, and eyes that look like almonds that didn't make it into the bag, in shape and color. My skin is dry. Except my face. My skin is more than one shade of brown, especially on my face. My skin is stretched. Never been tight. My skin reminds me of a potato, not so much "cafe con leche" like my nana says.

I grew up in this white town, with white people, and white expectations. I was never allowed not to act like a child because children of color are barely seen as children. I was never allowed to run or yell like the white kids on the playground because that made me look like I hadn't been "raised right".

I could never sit on the lunch benches outside like the other kids because the yard-ladies would only see my brown skin in the sea of whiteness and only tell me to not sit there.

I could never struggle in academics because that meant my hispanic mother didn't invest in my "academic success" and CPS would show up and ask me questions about whether my mom loved me or not. My mom worked three jobs, and saw us for less than three hours a day. she worked so she could invest in our success.

I couldn't say I was hungry because that meant my family was too poor and couldn't feed me. And then have CPS show up and ask to see the fridge. [I wasn't actually hungry, it's just that  by the time I was 7 I had developed an eating disorder because I had no idea how to cope with anxiety].

I could never not listen to authority because it wasn't teenage rebellion, it would qualify me for special behavior programs targeted towards "troubled youth" and we all know that's code for "kids of color who won't make it past  without being put in jail, being *****, pregnant at least once, or dying-- and by dying I mean killed by the system... choose any system because they're all designed to **** POC anyway".

I could never play in the sun during the summer with my white latinx cousins because the sun is not a brown girl's friend. The sun made my skin dark and made my aunt's hiss about my color to my mom and how she shouldn't let us out without sunscreen because we'd turn into "negritas", and that's what we shouldn't want.

I could never love myself because that doesn't exist when you aren't white. I mean, how do you love a body with thick brown hair, cracked skin, and a nose that doesn't look like Cinderella's?  I mean, how can you love a body that doesn't look like anyone in the new J-14 magazine? I mean how do you love a body that's never seen the sun because she's scared of being too dark because then shes's ugly? I mean, how does a brown girl even love herself?

— The End —