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LightSeeker03 May 2015
If the stars communicated like we human brothers,
Would they speak poorly of each other?
If stars come in many forms, ages, and colors,
Do they think highly of one over the other?
If one star has more planetary followers than another,
Would the others whisper harshly of how this star seeks more attention than another?
If stars are all different, and yet are made the same as each other,
Do they seperate themselves from one another?
If stars are born of the same matter,
Would this matter be their God or their mother?
If stars do speak like we human brothers,
Why do they work much better than us others?
I dunno \_(°^°)_/
epictails Apr 2015
Sleeping beside rocks and ants,
Roaming the vast fields like it was their own
Laughing, breathless angels of a blurred heaven,
Everyone thought they've gone mad
While I say they are just a different kind of brilliant

Living in oddly colored homes,
Rusty ceilings and ******* garages,
Singing their hearts out to the hum of a broken stereo
Everyone snickers at their bliss
But I say they are just a different kind of brilliant

Painting stories in abandoned walls
They feel the world is as beautiful as tattered pieces of clothing
As delightful as the scars and bruises in their knees
But the crowd can only feel ugliness
For these free spirits who are a different kind of brilliant

It makes me wonder, everyday,
Why the world runs on similarly crooked ideals
Plenty of despising, cynicism, pessimism
—more cynicism
When at the end of it all
You and me
We're all just a different kind of brilliant
I love how this poem came in my mind at just the right time. I'm planning on redrafting this as many times as I can until such time this deserves to get printed in my personal book of poems.
Aquinas Apr 2015
White picket fences
Four family houses
Checker pattern apron
Pie left to cool on the windowsill
Watching Andy Griffith
Paying some old television bills and hoping the kids will notice
Anything but the coldness that lies outside the front porch
The one with the swing

This is the American dream
Not really knowing what "minority" means
Fighting for a penny to put in a candy machine
"Oh, where did it go?" Some people ask
As if corruption was a thing of the past
if we want to make forward progress
we have to put a stop to all this unrest and nonsense
put your thoughts and words to good use
don't use them as a form of abuse
no one is fake
no one is stupid
no one is anything other than what they are
and what they are
you are too
we all have the same roots
we are all reading from the same book
some of us are just on different chapters
end the labels
end the hate
it is time for us to move on to the next page
Brent Kincaid Apr 2015
Life was an upward battle
Of intense personal frustration,
As we were treated like cattle
With unabashed discrimination.
And those of us who existed
Without rights or respect
We had a stronger hope
Than we had reason to expect.

When some of us reminded
Jesus said love your brother
They made up ***** jokes
Used ugly names of our mothers.
Some invented a phrase to use
That said God Hates *******.
They seemed to imply that God
Treated some children like maggots.

Rights were something given
At birth to regular human beings
To other people who were living
But justice we were not seeing
Because justice was not for us
It was for heterosexual whites.
The rest of us had few rights.

True, it was not legal to **** us
But in court things went elsewise.
Police and judges carried on
And covered their acts with lies.
With them bad could be good.
They behaved themselves oddly
Jailing and imprisoning us
Claiming it was all very godly.

And, today, with communication
Such an instantaneous entity
Things have gotten a bit better.
We’re still surrounded by enemy
That quotes a bible they don’t read
And block those any attempt to heal
Wanting instead to make hatred
And legal discrimination real.

Brent Kincaid
4/7/2015
John Smith Mar 2015
You call me many names
Fascist, racist, bigot, monster
To you I am the face of evil
My presence, my very existence
Alarms you to the core of your being
My love for my people
To you is only hate for others
Being comfortable in my own skin
Is an intolerable crime
You hunt me
Chase me out of jobs
Threaten my ability to provide for my children
You target me, fill my inbox with threats
You are a terrorist
But you will never succeed in breaking my nerve
I fear nothing
For everything I do is out of love
And I know that I will either be victorious
Or join my ancestors beyond
And look on from high as my brothers bravely march on in my stead
No matter where you look
All you see is hate
If you want to understand your own twisted perspective
Perhaps you should turn your gaze inwards
This goes out to everyone whose voice has been gagged by politically correct thugs.
I think they laugh at me
Maybe because I'm strange
Could I be a somebody
Or is that a bit deranged

Can't they see I'm the same
I bleed just like they do
They treat me as if I'm lame
Ignoring me is their rule

So are you picking on the disabled
Thinking we're not fit to work
Because you wonder if I'm able
To be like everyone else who work

I never asked to be this way
I try to forget that horrid past
Not thinking of that terrible day
I wish that memory faded fast

I'm human, I am not someone lower
I'm human, stop knocking me down
I'm human, so I might be slower
I'm human, now put away that frown
Copyright © Chris Smith 2012
Slow progress,
No revolution,
But steady success,
Eventually,
Got us to where we are,
Things getting better,
Easier,
Fairer,
Acceptance gaining,
Ignorance failing.

But.

In one signature,
A thousand steps taken,
The wrong way,
Back to before,
When no one,
Understood,
And blindly,
Blamed,
Accused,
Hated,
Divided.

But.

The world screams,
It cries out:
*"They are human too!"
WE ARE HUMAN TOO
Katlyn Orthman Mar 2015
United we stand
Divided we fall
This Nation is Grand?
No, not at all

Hatred for a human being
Because one doesn't understand
I can't believe what I am seeing
I can't believe this land

Cover our eyes from the truth
Plug our ears to their words
Quiet them down, remain aloof
Pretend they never heard

This can't be the land of the free
The land of the very brave
Tears, fear and death I see
This is America the Grave
I am utterly speechless. Today began as any day does, and ended with my eyes seeing clearly how deep this problem is. Today over 100 students in my school, mostly Muslim, felt that they needed to protest just for them to be heard. Discrimination is at large. Our administration has turned a blind eye to them, and in thus they have let down a large part of our student body. To feel harassed and discriminated against, even unsafe at times, should never be allowed. I am disgusted not only with our administration, who instead of hearing these kids out, decided to put our school in a containment that also took away from our learning, but also the students. We as people belong. We as people deserve the freedom to religion, appearance, language, and life. Stop the hate.
Jimmy Solanki Feb 2015
Rag picker on the street
Dust eater and maggot breather
She can tell the smell
Of burning plastic and paper
Of turning dung to soil
She knows the ways
Between the hills of refuse
Between the footfalls of her children
But who cares who she is
The lost and never found
Inherited a kingdom thrown away

Who cares what she thinks
She finds meanings in a bottle
Looks at a glossy magazine and wonders
Her slightly bent back aches
Sun ravages her skin each day
Brazen with resistance like herself
Her skin glistens with labors each day
Filling her heart with hazy dreams

Who cares what she sees
She hears those kids play faraway
A world insulated from her own
Where plastic is used and thrown away
And the worst smells won't make you sway
She sees the worth of this world
For what it truly is
She lives in the belly button
Never forgetting it was the beginning
And it may be the end

But who cares what she says
She's just another sweeper
Another rag picker
Treasure hunter and bounty filler
She sings old forgotten ballads
Songs with no beginnings
Songs with no creators
As she looks for something
An old school bag, a plastic earring

But who cares who she is
Just another one of these
Souls in an eternal sea
They never were
They never will be
An entire generation
Of nonentities
Forgotten children of Destiny
Rag pickers and sweepers are a common sight in my country. A whole class of people were deemed untouchable because they worked as manual laborers, cleaners and scavengers. Even now, these are the overlooked, second class citizens nobody cares about. I see them all the time. I wish a better life for them, more fulfilling, more real. A dream
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