Priya Mar 23
Tired and exhausted, here I sit
Thinking of the things that have changed today.
M Still confused, why it happened to her.
She has lost everything today.  Everything.
Her childish smile, carefree looks, innocent eyes.
Everything.
It’s lost now.
Her once sparkling eyes are lifeless now,
There she is sitting with a heavy heart,
Like soulless a creature.
Though she has not died physically
But her soul, her purity, her charms, her senses are taken away of her.
She is still pondering what her fault was.
Why that filthy looking creature who she has once considered her uncle
Had touched her.
Why he kissed her like that.
Her once gleaming eyes are now clouded with tears.
Her pride has been shaken.
It seems as if the man’s touch has taken everything that once belonged to her.
She is still wondering why she wasn’t able to react to that man.
Why this was done to her.
She took him to be a father like a figure
And he tried to destroy her pride.
That small girl, who has not turned even sixteen until now
Is surrounded with darkness
Wondering why she was so soft then
Even after knowing whatever is happening is wrong.
She could have called out for help but all she did was,
She sat there mindlessly…….
It wasn’t that she was illiterate a child,
No, she was quite educated a girl.
She had knowledge about the actions that could have been taken.
Yet, she sat there lifelessly….
Angry, no she wasn’t angry
For she knew it was not man’s fault
But it was her fault that she had allowed him so far
She was quite, I guess because she would have been taught to be polite,
To be quite and to behave nicely
For she was born a girl.
She is not suppose to speak out loud
Even if something wrong happens to her
After all she is a girl…..

But yes, indeed some things have changed today
Some emotions took shape in her…some feelings born and some died...
Anger and hate toward men had born
And that small girl of sixteen with gleaming eyes and huge bright smile has died….
She is no more...
The one who replaced her is stronger than ever.
She knows how to speak out loud.
She has learnt that verbally abusing the one
Who is sexually abusing you is better an alternative.
She has learnt to be bold enough to stand against society...
But still emptiness and darkness is there
Somewhere within her
Prevailing continuously
And will keep growing forever…
For her soul has been shattered today……..
Evelyn Feb 26
You told me
that God is love
oh tell me mamma,
did you lie to me?

I'm good, actually
I met the person of my dreams
do you miss me?

You said things
about being kind
and then you forced me to leave
for the kind of girl I am

You know, dad used to kiss me
before bed
now he doesn't even care
if I am okay

And I'm sorry but I am not
how you can say that
God loves us all
and the call a problem
the woman I love?

Parents should protect
their children at all costs
but when I opened my heart
you both told me it wasn't right
and then falling in love became
falling apart

How dare you blame her?
she doesn't feel ashamed
and she never leaves me alone
how can you judge her?
she wasn't the one that
left at my worst

So I'm sorry but I'm not
and if you still ask me to leave her
I will pray for you

and if you really believe
that God is love
practice what you preach
and maybe one day
I'll visit the place
I used to call home.
Greco Mar 19
Youth is only accepted when the cameras are ready.
Pose for a picture by reason of Getty.
Gone are the days of sticks and stones and spilled milk.
We live in a melting pot that has been dropped and spilt.
This is not an adults swim only.
We will all jump into the pool.
This is not a land of first come, first serve.
I speak cause I’ve got nerve.
Our age is not a reflection of our IQ.
Our age is the tape that covers our mouths.
Our age is not a representation of our wisdom.
We won’t be seen and not heard.
Because our voices are the anthem of a rebellion.
I wrote this because so many adults in my life have tried to keep me from expressing my feelings.
Neuvalence Mar 8
It is as if every word I utter
I stutter as I rethink
to avoid their words
of a terrible idiosyncrasy
hollering profanities
and shame towards me
for the wits presented
to them for only glee
Their disproportionate
lines of reality burns them—
like the termites that feed
on the heart of a tree—
How could I fathom
their blatancy
in having such an
aversion towards me?
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.
Vani Feb 13
I am sick of the stares that follow me everywhere
And of the letches I find on the street
I am sick of being catcalled on roads
And  then asked to be silent about it
I am sick of the curfews that my parents impose on me
And their fears about my safety which it reflects
I am sick of the rape cases I hear about everyday
And the threat that i might be its victim too
I am sick of acid attacks
And of one-sided lovers whose love isn’t actually love
I am sick of listening about dowry victims
And of how people burn their brides for money
I am sick about not being treated equally as men
And the discrimination I see everywhere
I am sick of being judged by my clothes
As if they aren’t my clothes but my character
Yes I am a woman
And trust me I am sick of it
Having undergone inexplicable misery being a woman in a place where women were placed on an elevated level in the past, the present commotion
of a world with annihilated human sensibility seems to have made life of women  a terrible experience in diurnal move in every day life forcing live in misery and pain.
Lee Jan 30
Hi, I'm a strong believer the media is important.
But I cannot associate myself with the news that it's reportin'.
Domestically, we see one side, not enough is imported.
And if I speak out, there's a fear I get deported,

but I'm living far away from where I was born.
It's too hard at this time to really call that place my home.
Other nations are more accepting and they're half as diverse.
I can't help but think that the roles should be reversed.
Not mine, but some peoples ancestors traveled across the sea
Searching for a new life to rid themselves of heresy.
Now they won't let you board a plane if you've got hairy cheeks,
Or a wrap on your head. They'll give up your seat.

I didn't create the problem. I'm still in my teens.
What went wrong in the past that infected us with greed.
I find it hard to believe that there was just a 'bad seed'.
I'm made by what I feel, what I hear, and what I see.

Now it's my job, and the rest of my generation's,
to sniff out the problems. Find where people were mistaken.
Some issues may be right in front of our nose.
Sometimes we don't realize how deep this stuff goes.
We often don't understand how the darkness grows.
As much as we study, no one really knows.

As a young person, I'm still stuck writing poetry
because no one who matters would listen to my prose.
I was born in America, then I moved to Brazil, now I'm in Germany.
You are surrounded by inferiority and low I’Q
They will never reach your height
no matter what they do.

Their presence is a burden
that will cost you too much to bear.
You must stop them before you end up,
in solemn despair.

They seek to impede your progress
like the expansion to the west.
Control the cerise, ebony and brown
and free them of those tendencies,
of folk and wild.

Don’t take this task to lightly
Ye dare not stoop to less,
nor call to loud on Freedom
Just focus on their threat.

Speak to them in simple language
and repeat yourself a hundred times,
for tis the only way that they understand,
given their feeble minds.

You must go to war with them
in order to bring them peace;
you must free them from their destruction,
famine, and disease.

You must not stray from your course
no matter what has been said,
for your country-men are with you
to cloak your weariness.

They may bring some cases
in order to sway your path,
but don’t be guile by them,
they matter not.

Look at Bannker, the author of various almanacs.
There have been other Negros like him
but still, they matter not.

Did you know about Henry Eyring of Mexican decent?
Did you know he was a prolific writer of science and faith?
There have been other Latinos like him
but still, they matter not.

Don’t even pay attention to the Native American, Golda Ross.
Even though she was the first female engineer at Lockheed Aircraft.
There have been other Native American like her,
but don’t sway, they matter not.

Just keep saying to yourself,
“they were outliers that’s all.”
That it was because of your influence,
which allow them to evolve.

Did you know about Black Wall Street and what conspired there?
Just look at 1921 with over three hundred slain.
Greenwood stills remembers those two hellish days,
when everything when asunder with nitroglycerine.

Just tell the world that this needed to be done,
but don’t tell them the part of economic liberty,
for that would bring into question, their inferiority.

The spirit of a people crushed along with their property,
and if the world asks, don’t tell them tis was ye.
Instead accuse those guile races of things whites can believe,
and to them proclaim your democracy,
and the pursue of liberty.

Keep retorting your independence
for the whole world to hear,
but don’t tell the truth,
“That is only good for white here.
This was a response to the claim regarding the I'Q of Latinos in the news made by one of the representatives of the Heritage Foundation.
I refuse to allow anyone to make me hate,
Anyone to make me bitter,
Anyone to make me discriminate
against a sister or a brother race.

I refuse to allow any man to change
my opinions about myself,
about love, or about anyone else.

I refuse to allow any woman or man
to ruin my day, to claim my smile,
to declare my day of happiness has run its race,
has run its mile, is now over and done with.

I do not desire to be lusted after by another human.
I do not crave the attention of any man
who has yet to see me, yet to meet me,
yet to love me in the delicate and comical way that I deserve.

I do not itch to be touched.

The only hunger that I have is to find love
and to find it in its purest form,
And I refuse to settle for less than what’s best for me,
for that is something that only I know,
but something that others may see.

I refuse to settle for less.
© Kaylee Johnson
Alice Dec 2017
Let this message be a vessel for change.
Let it drift down every mountain spring
and battle every raging sea.
Welcome it like a distant relative
then send it on its way.
For this message is no ordinary one;
it has the ability to change the world
and stand itself in time.

Be kind to this message;
Do not treat it harshly
or resent it for what it is.
Do not segregate it
or discriminate against it.
Do no show it injustice
or malice or loneliness.
Do not show it how it feels to be sad
or unloved or unwanted.
Treat it with care and respect
and I promise,
it shall do the same for you.

Let this message be a vessel for change.

For once this message has reached its end,

it will have seen enough.
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