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Katy Owens Dec 2014
no butterflies in my stomach
I have hands in my chest
grabbing my heart
squeezing it without rest
Crushing me
I'm helpless at best
Tears welling up
salty pieces of soul
filling my eyes
down they roll
You can't ever fully escape
heartbreak
Tears
my broken self spilling out
seeping through my skin
Can't hold it all together
forever
Maybe I'm grateful for
those hands crushing my chest
Don't have to feel all the pain
desperately trying to find rest
But my soul won't stop crying
heart bleeding salty tears down my cheeks
This heartbreak doesn't heal
you just learn to live with the pain
Jay Dec 2014
Don't shoot!
Can't you see my white palms
Not the black end of my black hands
Guilty until proven innocent
That's the predicament I was raised in
When I walk onto the subway, privilege holds for dear life the bag her daddy gave her, and yes by privilege I mean white.
Because based on my skin I'm automatically framed as a thief that lives too cheap to afford the Kors bag that she has.
Don't shoot!
I just found out my dog passed and decided I'd run fast and hold her tight before her last gasp.
But since I'm black and I'm running, the pigs start coming after me as if I created a catastrophe since the mask of me is black.
They corrupt the laws, use excessive force and pin me down to the ground when I was just trying to get to my hound.
Don't shoot!
Yes my windows are tinted and my skin is a shade the same but when you pull me over I'm not to blame for the drug ring that has your people suffering.
I sweat in fear for my life as I see red and blue lights wondering if I will live to see tomorrow's sunlight.
Because based on my tints and my rims and my skin I must be some criminal uncaught.
So as privilege approaches my door I must place my white palms on the wheel and plead to retrieve my license from the passengers seat.
Don't shoot!
Because if I was white I wouldn't need to fight for my right to life.
And I wouldn't have to fear the man that society told me would pull my hand if I raised it in a plea for help and welp,
That just isn't the case so based on my race I must remain on thin ice for the rest of my black life, yelling
Don't shoot!
Ezra Dec 2014
Peace is not just the absence of any war;
But the defense of our hard-earned freedoms.
Today, we do not live, or rest, in peace.
There may be no turbulence on our soil,
No chaotic bloodshed scorching our earth,
But that doesn't mean the ship is steady.

Our nation might be at what they call "Peace",
But as long as justice is not upheld,
As long as our freedoms are trampled on,
As long as our courts stay in lawlessness,
We are so, so very far from that Peace.

To reach that Arcadia, that Promised Land,
Our laws must change; our officers must change,
Our people must change; our mindsets must change,
We must change. Change has to sweep up our hearts.
Now.
More than anything, Ferguson and Garner must tell us to change. Neither extreme is right; neither looting and rioting nor blatant injustice. We must find some compromise, some middle ground--if not for us, but for the restless souls of our dead brothers.

— The End —