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Jeremy Betts Apr 2018
I abuse words verbally like my voice is Bobby and the dictionary Whitney/
Like a literary hyperbole properly arranged to explain this deranged brutality perfectly/
Force the English language to work for me like a particularly dark time in history/
Optimistically take the tongue twister trickery and aggressively attack a vocabulary vocally and personally/
Not physically but a barrage on your psyche, almost psychedelically/
Use words medically, like a surgeon I expertly plant thoughts whispered softly but assertively/
Moving letters like chess pawns to express thoughts masterfully and creatively/
Gruesomely grotesque but gorgeous thoughts written down beautifully/
You can't help but hear the perplexity of mythoticly placed words with comradery/
An oddity with the audacity to raise the bar and up the capacity/
Because what comes out of me has to be exactly what you see because it is me/                
Not just a part of me but all of me/
I'm not a fallen tree sitting in the forest silently, quietly all by my lonely/
It's just the opposite actually and factually/
I will attack with a dialect so violent you violently retract causing you to react cowardly automatically/
I don't even have to lift a pinky, leave it stinky/
Let my words linger there in the air like **** smoke, thick and sticky/  
Periodically come back to peek and see if you've figured out the mystery and found the key/
One that'll decipher decisively what it is that I've let out of me and spread to all humanity/
I could never have planned it, see, it had to happen naturally, organically if you will/
And not to build it up falsely but I honestly, back then, didn't have the ***** to let it out of me and it cost me considerably/
So now this mastery I hold of word delivery bestowed to me gets jotted down feverishly/
With an intensity equal to none inside of this ******* century, can't censor me/
Got a consistency that forces me to constantly cross the border of insanity repeatedly/
Time only to watch my talents as they literally wither away for all of eternity/
Such a tragedy to see such agony but please, no apology brought on by sympathy/
Just let me be as I drift farther out to sea to a place you'll never see/
To let these works mold me into someone you could never be/

Zywa Jul 2022
Your leg on my thigh

provokes me, then you ask me:

This is fun, isn't it?
"Francisca Porto" (2004, Paul Janssen)

Collection "May the Might"
nicaila May 2021
Cricket sounds echoed
My saliva I just swallowed
Rumors of the devil coming out
Let me tell you what its all about

Deafening noise at 3 AM
Must be Sir Pol again
Parting my ragged curtain
Scarlet drops pattering down the drain

Shutting the windows tight
For Sir Pol just met my sight
Moonlight hungs down, I'm creepified
Meeting eye to eye gave me a fright

Sir Pol looks so dignified
But under the streetlights
I caught a glimpse of a badge
Filled with resentments and grudge

Again... screams rang
Surely, It's Sir Pol doing his routine
Of acting like Gods, sentencing mortals into guillotine

Hey, Mister Pol Ice
Hear me, Mister Pol Ice!
The next dawn
Let me lay on my pillow at ease
And the town be in peace
Because police brutality is still rampant and in all sides of the world are voices never heard, buried into the deepest waters pleading for justice. Bullets imbedded into skulls of the innocents.
Inori Kimimoto Mar 2021
The cost of free is:
four hundred years of slavery,
a billion pounds of gold,
decades of senseless brutality,
millions in captivity

and the body of yet another innocent man.

~ Inori
A poem written after the University of the Witwatersrand protests
Lil Moon Moon Feb 2021
A 9 mm handgun
In the hands of Mr. Policeman

Click click BANG BANG

Now the ground has a metallic tang
You greedy little  men in blue
Its always you who don't hold true

Click click BANG BANG
The innocent blood in your hands hang

How did it feel Mr. Policeman?
Xaria Dec 2020
The Police you fear.
You’ve feared them since you were five,
Mother always telling you as such.
You’re not breaking the law at five, right?
If you did, then you’d totally deserve whatever they’d do to you.
After all, they only go after people who disobey the law!

The Police you have nightmares about. Frequently.
Do you speed in your dream? Seriously?
How is it that you commit crimes in your dream?
If you don’t want to be ‘bothered’ (or as some intellectuals put it, murdered or killed), maybe just follow the law??

The Police give you pause every time you see them while driving.
The Police cause your heart to pound, your fists to clench the wheel,
And you to immediately slow down to 10 mph below the speed limit.
Really?? C’mon, now you’re just being dramatic.
If you’re so freaked out by them, maybe not speed so much?
Unless…you’re hiding something in your car?
You’ve got brown skin; you act all afraid of the cops…
You probably have drugs on you. You seriously deserve to be searched.
Just kidding! Although, I’m sure some of the white people you tell this too might actually believe it.

The Police you fear at the airport, with their K9 dogs on leashes.
It does not help that your stupid acne medication smells like ****.
Or…Maybe you just have **** on you?
You know that the dumb dog probably wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
But hey, at least it doesn’t smell like rotten eggs!

The Police you have to create a lot of strategies around,
Like a football game,
But instead of winning,
The main goal is not to get beaten or shot to death!

The Police have harassed your dad a lot.
You’re always told how you’re a shade or two lighter than him.
But hey! At least you’re not darker!

The Police harass your dad at work and off work.
But if he didn’t want to stop, maybe not wear a LG uniform and drive in a LG truck!
No wonder why they stopped him and asked what he’s doing!
He’s so suspicious.

The School/University Police has never once made you feel safe.
You freeze up like a deer in headlights and force yourself to move.
You keep your head down, not maintain eye contact,
But maybe in order to make it really clear
You should wear a gigantic “I AM NOT SUSPICIOUS SIGN”.
Do they sell those on Amazon?

Maybe you can take a look online?
Maybe that’ll help your whole…’ooh I’m so scared of cops thing?’
Whatever you do, get some help.
GQ James Dec 2020
Lemme see your hands,
That's what the officer said,
But he still shoots like he couldn't see my hands,
Why did you shoot me?
I kept my hands visible,
I didn't resist or reach in my pockets.

You ain't need to pull out and fire your gun,
All that was unnecessary,
You think just because you're an officer of the law,
That you're above the law,
You're not above the law,
You need to be better at protecting and serving,
Stop killing us.

Protect us and stop killing us,
I'm just a innocent black man,
The black on black crime getting scary,
Black lives matter,
Ths color of my skin makes life harder,
Had a target on my back since birth.
Graff1980 Nov 2020
Compassion informs my outrage,

Skinny black kid,
super sensitive
playing the violin
for kittens,
pacifist vegetarian
tried to tell policemen
“I am not violent.
I’m an introvert.
I am different,”
as they choked him
then had paramedics
dose him
with ketamine.

Buds of pain
do not bloom
but burst, spray,
and sprain
my brain
that was self-trained
in the art of
kindness and reason.

It takes
less than five minutes
to break a mother’s heart,
to tare her world apart,
to shatter and claim
that they are not to blame
after unloading a full clip
on an autistic thirteen-year-old
who wasn’t mentally equipped
to do exactly what he was told.

Love and mercy
should rule the day
but cops make
violence great again.
Human suffering
is not magic
just unnecessarily tragic. cont.

Micheal Brown,
Eric Garner,
Tamir Rice,
George Floyd,
Freddy Gray,
Breonna Taylor,
Elijah Mcclain,
Linden Cameron,
Jacob Blake,
and so many other names.
There has to be a better way.
Ugo Victor Nov 2020
And if you speak to me about hell
I will tell you and I will say
I've been there,
I was born there.

And if you ask me how I know for sure
I will tell you and I will say
All the demons are here
There's more than one devil too

Hell is here
Hell is home.
This is in support of the ongoing fight against police brutality in my home country Nigeria, where they have committed endless atrocities and are still doing so.
Ese Oct 2020
He was a boy becoming a man
He was a boy with dreams
He was a boy who had life in him
He was a boy who had love to give.

He was a designer
He was a youth
He was a creative
He was the truth

Oke wanted to live
Oke wanted a good life for his mum
Oke wanted a good life for his brother
Oke wanted a good life for his lover

So much love to give
So many more memories to make
So many creatives to build
So much history he could have made
Oke was a man
A man who died a boy

A handsome boy, we will never know how handsome he would have been as a man.
Oke wanted to take over the world
He was designing his own life with everyone he loves by his side.

Now, where is Oke?
Where is his spirit?
Where is his creativity?
Where are his emotions?
Where is his smile?

He said "Nigeria won't end me"
Nigeria became the end of him.
Gone to the ground, never to be remembered by the world just by those who truly love him.

Where is Oke?

Bury him in Satin
Bury him with the winds
Let his flesh touch the sands and his spirit land in the lord's hands
Let his dreams die
Let his love die
Let his smile die
Let him rest

Where are you, Oke?
Let me come with you
Maybe then I would rest just like you
Let's meet for the first time amongst the sand
Let's shake hands and play in the dark

Where are you, Oke?
A Handsome boy never to be a man
Sleep well Okay? Oke.

When my mind began to cloud
I began thinking out loud.
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