First Trump came for the Women

And I  spoke out

Because I am a woman.
Then Trump came for the Disabled

And I spoke out

Because I am not disabled.
Then Trump came for the Lgbt Community

And I spoke out

Because I am Pansexual.
Then Trump came for the African Americans
And I spoke out

Because I am not African American.
Then Trump came for the Hispanics

And I spoke out

Because I am Hispanic.
Then Trump came for the Muslims

And I spoke out

Because I am not Muslim.
Just because it isn't you doesn't mean that you can't fight
And speak out
Because it helps others to do the same.

Rewrite of Pastor Niemoller "First They Came" poem

If you met a flag that represents a country,
Would it tell you of its people? Would
It speak of their courage strength and
Determination? Would it sing the songs of the children's souls as they run through bricks stacked high as clouds?

No.

Without the wind, flags do not fly.
When they fall,
they need the people's
Hands to rise again.
They need
The voices of the people singing,
A flag is nothing
until "we" believe we are free
The streets are staind with the the blood
Of our AMERICAN children...
How dare you
How dare you
My fellow Americans
Trading your children
The very future of our America
Trading  their love for flags
And anthems
Ignoring their screaming blood,

To listen...blindly to the silence of cloth

How dare you speak of disrespecting
Veterans,
American
I've watched you walk past
Lost soldiers, begging
With nothing but ancient
Military fatigues and the stench
Of death
That was never washed away

How could any soldier be lost
......
How dare you America
How dare you use our veterans
And sacrifice to ignore
The rising rumble of defiance
Deep within the belly of America
Where there is hunger
For reason, hunger
Like you have never known

WE are america,
Our nation would be lost
In infinite silence
If we all died today....

Taking a knee is not a disrespect
To the flag!
The American flag is a canvas
Painted by the people who live and die
Believing that because they are
American, they are free.
We Americans however,
Have been painting our flag in the blood of our
Own beloved, the youth, the elderly,
The less fortunate and impoverished,
The mentally challenged, and most of all with the blood of all of those who chose to die
So that you me and themselves could be free,

Americans are taking a knee,
Because we are ashamed to stare proudly at
A flag dripping with the blood of its people!

We will not rise
Until the blood shed dies!

I wake from sleep and I fear.
It’s like the years did not happen
And clapping my hands for light
Doesn’t dispel the long nights
When the fights still went on
And dawn didn’t erase the war
For the world is at it again
Men hating other men over skin
And murder is no longer a sin
If it is done with flags waving.

The raving of insane rulers
Revelers in hate and genocide
Have again set aside the gods,
The ones they swear about
And shouted down all opposition
Taking the position it's fine to kill
And still claim the victims are godless
And the murderers are good.
Why don't they question any evil
That doesn’t cavil at hypocrisy
But jealously protects its power
And rains down hour after hour
Of lies and obvious obfuscations
To nations powerless to stop them?

Whims of evil men should be taken
As words to be shaken off, ignored
As if from bored, evil childish brats,
Not taking off of hats and bowing,
Plowing under civil rights like weeds
And laughing at the needs of the weak.
Speak up before it’s too late to deny
That kind of guy respectability!
We still have the ability, the right.
Fight so we don’t become Nazi Germany.
Don’t let that be our national destiny.

let me remind you:
know that i am the scream
i am the protest
i am the revolution
i am the awakening
of every black leader
every protester
every revolutionist
every poet
every writer
that has breathed and lived and paved paths
and immortalized and cut scathing with their art
that has cut swaths through rivers
that have tunneled through caves
that have smeared wet earth on their faces
that have picked through the foliage on mountains
know that i am every woman who has bled for her child
know that i am every foreign tongue that has unbound us
know that i am every unshackled and raised fist
know that i am a woman
know that i am a black woman
i am every black queen
i am not a display
i am not an object
i am not something to be coveted
you have no right to salivate over me
you have no right to stitch lust into my skin
you have no right
let me remind you:
i am a black woman
soft, wild, and free

I changed this a bit from what it was before. I ended up revising the capitalized "I" and making them all lowercase for the sake of cohesion. This is meant to be an empowering piece. It's old. At the time I wrote it I was reading Warsan Shire. Like me and so many other 1st-generation children from immigrants who are also artists or self-proclaimed or "budding," her work at some point deals with the topic of immigration, having immigrant parents, and also it deals with being a woman who is black. It deals with womanhood too.

A lot of my work is very romantic, dark, I would say cutting in some spaces. It has some macabre imagery, a lot of it is intentionally repetitious. A vast majority of it is also deeply personal. They are individual poetic narratives and I think poetry should first and foremost be about that poet's personal experience. Maybe I will write a poem that can be collectively about my race's experience, until then, what ever comes out, will come out.

This is, like Warsan's work, applicable to any other black woman. We quietly feel the need to assert and remind others of our worth, we quietly remind ourselves of our worth, we have to take part in a bodily, mental, spiritual, and emotional evolution to love ourselves in a society that does not and has not historically loved us. It still doesn't.

This poem comes from that part inside of me that has felt this way. I've had partners most of whom were not of my race, most of them Caucasian, and some were fascinated with my being 1st-generation "somethingsomething" or "Caribbean."

I'm proud of my heritage and I always maintained and will maintain that. However, despite having been with accepting partners, accepting men and friends, there were some men that I felt liked me just because of my blackness or demeaned it (one did or attempted to). But this isn't just for me, it's for any woman who has felt or feels this way.

It's a reminder: you matter, you are black, you are fucking beautiful, but you are more than that outer beauty. No man can just be allowed to claim you ONLY for that.

This is my gift to every little black girl and woman
A gift from one black woman to another.
Enjoy. Xoxo.

Also, here's a link to info about Warsan Shire. I would highly recommend checking out some of her work. She's simply put, amazing.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/warsan-shire
A Oct 9

Relatively;
They’re traced back to your hand.
Where the lakes meet the palatial forests,
Ensconced by a foreign land,
Ink stains, summer ice cream, soccer matches.
They spell what raised you from the ground.

Farther;
They pull you to the motherland.
Whispering to you in unfamiliar characters,
On a train across the vast verdant terrain,
Reliving the arduous lives of your predecessors.

You are a product of cold animosity and two rivals.

Kilam TA Sep 19

I need you both
because balance is good
Fear, I know you are over protective
Imagination, I know you are blindly optimistic
but with balance comes discipline
because balance is good
I will continue to consult you both
as you are my allies
on this journey to self revelation
and realization
I will continue to consult you both
because balance is good

MARK RIORDAN Sep 17

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Ocean fires Aug 21

The oppressor is not just the enslaver
The oppressor is the enslaved
They're the righteous majority that welcome chains
for consistency
Welcome the loss of privacy
for a false sense of safety
Welcome oppression
To support aggression against communities that don't understand why the loss of their lives is justified.

How do you justify the taking of any life?
How will you justify the taking of mine?

Nashoba Aug 10

Hey yah hey yah oii yaa haaa yaa.. the drums the songs the words are not gone. Deep within my blood my love for the earth my home my spirit my world. All that my Grandmother taught me to be to this forsaken world.
I dance under the moon. The brightness of her light. Prayers out loud each and every night. My songs and music signing for you. To save this earth from the forsaken fate that has been placed upon you.
I love differently than others, many do not understand. My spirituality is grand. I am free with no pain. I seek no gains from the world as most do.
The only gain I wish to seek is to protect you.
Copyrighted Nashoba 2017

Every single time I am so sad,
And
Whenever your memories bring tears,
How
I distract myself from crying
Is
A simple technique.

I just remember the
Name
Of the most powerful man
And
It makes me guffaw a tummy tuck,
As
I can't really imagine a Trumpet blowing Donald Duck!

My HP Poem #1618
©Atul Kaushal
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