Brooke P Mar 29
I had a panic attack in an American Eagle dressing room recently.
As I sobbed quietly
and begged my racing heart
to please slow the fuck down,
I listened to the chatter in the adjacent stalls;
other girls proclaiming their depression because
that top did not come in their size.
My mother stood
on the other side
of the locked door, suggesting
that I just
"stop."

While I struggled to catch my breath,
my mother went out to the floor,
feeling the need to tell the tale
of her poor daughter who lost everything
to the sales clerks and managerial staff.
They brought me water
and a cookie
and cleared out
the dressing room.
It's too bad that my demons didn't really give a shit
about their kind gestures.

Eventually, I was able to suck in air long enough
to call out to my mother and tell her
I needed to go home now, please.
I hid my face from the customers in the store
casting condemning looks in my direction.
I was ashamed, because I knew
everyone else knew
and I never want
people seeing me
like that.
But,
at least we got
a 50% discount.
MARK RIORDAN Mar 25
FINALLY THE YOUTH OF AMERICA
ARE USING THEIR VOICE
STOP THE GUNS KILLING US
PRESIDENT TRUMP YOU HAVE A CHOICE



PLEASE LISTEN TO US
WE MEAN WHAT WE SAY
GUNS ARE KILLING OUR FRIENDS
FOR WE CAN VOTE ONE DAY



STOP THE GUNS STOP THE KILLINGS
GET TUFF AND STAND UP FOR US
FOR IF YOU DON'T WE WILL VOTE YOU OUT
A CREATE A LOT OF FUSS


STOP THE GUNS STOP THE KILLINGS
"IF YOU DON'T STAND FOR SOMETHING
YOU WILL FALL FOR EVERYTHING"
THE YOUTH OF AMERICA ARE STANDING UP FOR GUN CONTROL THEY ARE TIRED OF LOOSING ALL THEIR FRIENDS TO ROGUE GUNMAN WITH GUNS OF MASS KILLING. PRESIDENT TRUMP LISTEN THE NEXT GENERATION ARE SPEAKING.
Alan S Bailey Mar 19
Such faded tracks that tell of all our special needy things
These ever needed-ever traded blanket things
They gave us this under cloaked shawl
And disappear into the wilderness. Why?
Because you feel warm? Your giving light beckons all...?
The drab dulls and grays that welcome you into home square,
The spider web in the loft of the ever white inn house,
This is how we are in for living now.
Give me a shovel "I would" dig to Hell's Inferno well,
OK, now you're there, but gold you see is not in there, yea,
It's like they say in the early retirement way day to day,
Your only too old when you can't come out and play!
These questions, unveiling,  appearing from the balcony,
She is in the well made protection for one of small size.
This is all in pure need, we are all in need,
The whole world is in need. Let us need
Until at our enemy necks, with knife and pistol,
Let us need until we must be bitter for the water glass
Is never half full. Let us be in need until we find
That this is how real life was already best destined to be,
Still with empty pockets ever in need of more,
Just keep digging deeper for more anyhow.
Getting even no matter who died was still a must,
All bought with a few million lives.

In God WE Trust...
There's a town north of the Jacket's place.
In the heart of central western PA.
Where the horses run free.
And there ain't a trace of the big city.

Some people say they're old-fashioned.
The ones living in that nation.
But who calls that home won't complain.
They're happy in Colt's country.

(chorus)
Barbecued ribs best in the county made by aunt Don.
Falling in love with Mr. Lee's son Ron.
Watching the big play with the gang.
{hoping that the boys win the game}

Staying forever young.
Believing in the word of God.
Never changing who we are for anything.
This is how we were raised.
Oh we might not have a million days.
But with what we have left.
We'll spend it in Colt's country.
_______

Picnic on Sunday down at Danielle's farm.
Kyle and Matthew show up showing their big arms.
They're leading the team to another victory season.
And when you ask them about it they thank god and one more reason.

That they've been brought up in this nation.
Of the white and blue.
Staying true to Colt's nation.

(chorus)
Touchdown thrown by number 43 Tom.
Watching my hero wide receiver Ron.
Hoping our season goes out with a big bang.
{the boys winning the championship game}

Staying forever young.
Believing in the faith passed along.
Never changing who we are for anything.
This is how we were raised.
Oh we might not have a million days.
But with what we have left.
We'll spend it in Colt's country.
_______

Now I've been gone for so long.
Years have passed and the memories still living on.
I won't forget sitting in the bleachers.
Cheering on them men, who made the halls of my high school.

Now Tom went on to the military.
It was his dream even if it meant risking his life.
Kyle started teaching at the local school.
And Matthew now plays in the pro bowl.

As for Ron, well he went to Penn State.
Never played again, gave it all up for me.

(chorus)
The chills you get where you hear the school's song.
Still in love with Mr. Lee's son Ron.
Walking in the funeral procession with the gang.
{hoping that Tom knows we'll always remember his name}

Staying forever young.
Believing in this town.
Never changing who we are for anything.
This is how we were raised.
Oh we might not have a million days.
But with what we have left.
We'll spend it remembering.
And making memories in Colt's country.
________
-WRR
Katelynn Mar 7
the smell of fresh beans
fills by dreams
beckons me forth to my culture, to my people
acceptance is key, but I'm rejected by the world
simply because I don't fit the stereotype
rejected by my people because I don't speak their language

engraved in my heart are the traditions and beliefs of my people
but my body betrays me
I am Mexican
I am American
but the world makes me choose one
because I don't look the way I'm supposed to
In March 2001, Melania granted green card
   asper elite EB-1 program
intended for renowned academic researchers,
   multinational business executives
   (linkedin with Uncle SAM)

or those in other fields, such as
   Olympic athletes and Oscar-winning actors,
   who demonstrated
   “sustained national and international acclaim”
   until...now, when (FAKE trophy wife)...
   besieged with WHAM!

The Don whips to defense of
   (legal residency status),
   sans his third wife
imbroglio finds the president flat footed
   regarding spouses' granted citizenry permission rife,
where details concerning former
   in vogue Slovak model now cushy life

challenging her right to live in The United States,
   the most Democratic nation
plus concomitant abrogation
   afforded robber Baroness admission

   dispensing hot button issue of CHAIN MIGRATION,
where sentiment underscored verbatim
   "Some people come in,
   and they bring their whole family with them,
   who can be truly evil. NOT ACCEPTABLE!”

The above on record as authentic Trumpian tweet,
hence quoted with poetic license,
   a prime example how two
   (or more faced) president didst react to un seat
fairness, which November twitter

   allowing parents with bearhug he did greet
   legal residency of her parents,
   Viktor and Amalija Knavs, as Elite
   who received figurative green light
   despite riding piggyback
   Nsync with military beat

ting back pesky atop flimsy green card,
   the freedom appetite got whet
scrutiny, and now a ironic Gordian Knot set
tilled and solved making mincemeat to pet

files, particularly equality
   for those skeined alive in the DACA net
ready to boot innocent offspring
   of supposed illegal aliens on the next departing jet!
Emily Miller Mar 1
This is a love letter
To the African-American community.
Black, if you wish,
Or simply “neighbor”.
To the African-American community-
My people would not be here if it were not for you.
Here as in alive,
Not as in the states,
Because we came to the states to be alive,
Something that would not have been possible back home,
But you helped us stay that way,
When our trades were not accepted
By soft-palmed,
American-accented
People of the US.
When we came here to escape death and oppression,
We were welcomed not by the blonde-haired, blue-eyed people we saw in the advertisements from the war,
We did not step off of the boat and into the arms of the benevolent angels we had heard of,
No,
We came to America and found you.
African-American community,
At the time,
You hardly had a home to give,
And yet you offered it to us when we had none.
Your culture was ravaged by war and slavery,
And yet you encouraged us to preserve our’s.
African-American community,
My people came here with no English and no education,
And to the residents here,
The two are synonymous.
My family,
Though skilled in trades handed down by generations of people in our tribe,
Father to son,
And mother to daughter,
Our traditions were passed down,
But when we arrived in the new world,
We were like babes in arm,
Hardly knowing how to walk.
African-American community,
This is a thank you,
For taking my people by the hand and pressing their fingers into the soil,
Teaching us how to coax life out of it.
Teaching us how to translate our language of terracing in the mountains
To sowing in the fields,
When none would take us for work,
Season after season
Of my family hushing the mother language off the tongues of our children
So that they would sound less foreign,
More American,
Black community,
You taught my family how to prepare for a blistering Texas heat,
When they were built to withstand an Eastern chill.
Black community,
You showed my people what it was like
To build a life from the ground,
The strange,
Alien,
American ground,
Up.
You took my people and led them out of the darkness of oppression and corruption
And into the light of the real American dream,
The one where people who have been beaten into the earth can rise up like a Phoenix.
Black community,
You showed us what to do with the dirt and the sandy loam
Until we built upon it churches,
Homes,
Harvested from it sustenance,
And within it,
Buried our dead.
Black community,
This is a love letter,
Because love is the only reason I can think of
As to why you had mercy on my battered, broken people,
Accepting our calloused hands in thanks,
As we had nothing else to offer.
Neighbors,
This is a thank you,
From the small, inconsequential non-natives,
Round and sturdy,
And the savage language with unfamiliar roots,
From my people,
With un-American eyes,
Coal-black and slanted,
Thank you,
On behalf of my ancestors for the actions of your’s,
Neighbors,
Thank you.
Your people were not the ones that struck the beads and herbs from our hair,
Snatched the language from our lips,
And took the ribbons tied to our shoulders and wrapped them ‘round our throats,
Choking the accent out of our mouths,
Neighbors,
That was not you.
Within God’s walls,
Moj Boze,
Ti Bok,
The ones built on the ground you brought us to,
We are told not to condemn the descendants of those who hurt us,
But to praise that of those who did not.
So here I am,
Neighbors,
Writing you a love letter
Because all I have to offer
Is my thanks.
My people,
Though Americanized
And void of the language and traditions that they were told to abandon,
Stand strong today,
And I,
A woman,
Just as stout and ungraceful as the tribe that bore me,
I am educated.
I not only learn English,
But I master it.
I earn my money and I keep it,
No man takes it from me,
Or refuses to sell me land because I am unmarried,
No government can remove me
And thrust me into a camp
Or a foreign country where I will not be a bother,
And although my people have been stripped of their name and placed under the color-coded category of person
On the spectrum that everyone seems to abide by,
You,
Neighbors,
Stood by us.
Thank you.
we heard
there’s a rumor of war,
and there’s nowhere to
run;

we killed
those Floridian kids
to make room for
our guns;

we shrugged
when we noticed the graves
overflow with our
young;

we can
get used to anything—
like a school slick with
blood—

we will
destruct according to
the Devil’s bargain we’ve
struck.
Guns are not greater than kids' lives.
don't be my green light.
don't be the daisy to my gatsby.
don't be my dream,
my unattainable dream.
-WRR
K F Feb 17
Brown jacket, chase it up the rocks.
Afraid to slip on the moss and fly without wings down the side.
Or is it lichen?
There's the sea, or bay or ocean.
It's salty, that's certain from the taste of the air.
Back down the hill through wet trees.
Everything is wet.
It's misting ice.
And radiating grey.
Chase the jacket, don't get lost.
Chase the
Wet haird and feeling wild, thoughts are finally scattered
and it feels like we're alive.
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