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If you had to pick one sound to describe your childhood, what would you pick?
Would you pick the sound of laughter?
The sound of your mother singing?
Or maybe the sound of your father working?

If I had to pick one sound to describe my childhood, what would I pick?
I would pick the sound of glass breaking.
I would pick the sound of my mother screaming
Or maybe I would pick the sound of my body impacting against the floor.

If you had to pick one memory to describe your childhood, what would you pick?
Would you pick a birthday?
Maybe, a memorable game or trip?
Or, maybe, a holiday event or just a random vision that fully captures the beauty of your loved ones?
Tell me which one would you pick?

If I had to pick one memory from my childhood, what would I pick?
I would pick the memory of freedom.
I would pick the memory of the judge repeating the same few words that saved my life.
I would pick the excitement and the oh thank god hug from my grandma when we received the verdict.
I would pick the memory of new beginnings and the beginning of happiness.

We all come from different cities, towns, states, and places from a map.
We all come from different backgrounds and ethnicities.
We all come from different childhoods and memories.
But we must all come together regardless of our differences!
Kunbi Dec 2020
I sat on top of the world; everyone knew my name
Now I try to find my way back, all I know is shame

My cars; crashed into parties, everyone wanted to be in my fancy wear
Why didn’t I look up investing and insuring; now I don’t mind if its rag, please just give me something to wear

My name was held in high esteem, white line called to me from Whitney’s rear
She never came back for me, but watched as I derail

Day and Night, I looked up to Whiskey, it became my religion
Now at the altar in search of salvation from the true religion

                   Kunbi Dia
“I spent a lot of money on *****, birds and fast cars. The rest I just squandered. ” George best
Daivik Dec 2020
There ,I said it
Now am I free?
Inspired from George Orwell's 1984
David Huggett Sep 2020
George Merle had to take a trip to Calgary for a medical assessment at the bidding of his union. He had to be there June 24th at 9:00 a.m. to se a Dr. Paul Darlington. George was apprehensive to say the least.

George made a booking at a motel close to the clinic. He also made a booking to fly from Regina to Calgary the evening of the 23rd.
He arrived in Calgary and took a cab to the motel near the clinic. He made himself comfortable in his room and tuned on the T.V. Around 10:00 p.m. the evening began to drag and things were getting pretty boring.
He left the comfort of his room and went out into the cool crisp night air for a stroll. He passed an all night tavern. He went in, sat down and ordered a coke.
Inside the dimly lit tavern he met a man whose name was Blakie. Blakie was dressed in,  you guessed it, black. he had a full black bear, wore a black leather jacket, and a black New Jersey Devil's peaked cap.
Blackie told George a few food jokes and they became fast friends. Blackie said he was from the Mission down the street, also they would go there later for a bite to eat. He then ordered George a drink.
When the drink arrived Blackie paid for it. George sipped the drink, it tasted good so he drank it down. The affect the drink had on him was devastating. The music became deafening, the room spun, strove lights flashed all around him. Blackie suggested the go outside for some fresh air.

Once outside, George stumbled in the street. Blackie grabbed him, kept him from hitting the ground, but at the same time surreptitiously stole his wallet. They stumbled down the street to a poorly lit doorway that read Mission of Lost Souls.

They reached a plateau and a door that said Belfry. He had the dry heaves then opened the door. The door to the belfry creaked open. His eyes took a minute to adjust to the light of the moon. There was a huge raven sitting, staring at him atop a 4x4 crosspiece that supported the bell.
Then an eerie voice that seemed to come from nowhere said, "What is your name, why have you come here?"

"My name is George, I have come to find a better way of life."
The raven began to caw loudly as if laughing at him. It flapped its wings and took off. It flew wildly right through one of the stained glass windows. There was a loud crash and scream that cried, "You will forget?"
Once again the eerie voice said, "What is your name, why have you come here?" He could not remember his own name. He was completely perplexed and mumbled, "I don't know.
He returned to the Mission of Lost Souls and thereafter became known as "Ralph." The Mission of Lost Souls had claimed its 617th victim, George Merle never made it to his appointment with Dr. Paul Darlington in Calgary on the 24th.
From Ghosts in my closet. by George Merle
If those young men had looked like me,
how diff'rent everything would be.
There'd be no blood or teardrops shed.
Had they been white, they'd not be dead.

If Mike Brown had been Michael White,
he surely would have been alright.
"Don't shoot!" would not need to be said.
Had he been white, he'd not be dead.

From Ferguson to East L.A.,
we hear the stories every day.
"Protect and Serve" til streets run red.
Had they been white, they'd not be dead.

Call it racial immunity,
where skin-tone is impunity.
Don't let yourself be so misled-
had they been white, they'd not be dead.

As more and more young ones are slain,
and protests are met with disdain,
you may debate what I have said,
but were they white, they'd not be dead.
Wrote this when Mike Brown was killed in Ferguson. I'm sad that it maintains relevance today.
he's begging to breathe
Crying please..
though he's now gone,
the echoes of his desperation
shed light on a dark situation
we're all going through waves
of constant uncertainties,
Yet one aspect is certain,
societies accepted ignorance
is finally falling away,
a martyr, someone's son, our fellow brother
I'm sorry for how you suffered,
these tears fall
yet now maybe we can build
and stand tall,
instead of living in our bubbles
comfortably ignoring the pain of another
George floyd
Corynne Dittrich Jun 2020
I've heard about the hate between black and white,
Can't anybody see? This is so not right.
The problems start but never end.
Can't they see? We can just be friends.
The world is full of chaos,
And I'm thinking to myself
"Look at us!"
Pain was here
But it just grew.
I'm sorry, was that not enough for you?
You chant "All Lives Matter" in the streets.
Who were the ones who used to dress up in sheets?
Yes we know ALL lives matter.
Yours, mines. His. Hers. Theirs.
But when I walk down the street
No one stares.
This issue is a cancer. We must cut it out.
Eradicate the disease,
Until there's no more shouts.
Calling all the cops who deserve this time.
If you didn't see it coming,
Don't do the crime.
You've scarred each family
From the people we've lost.
You did this crime,
Now you pay the cost.
When someone says get off my neck
With your knee,
Cop look at yourself.
Is this really who you wanna be?
What's the difference between black and white?
What really matters is if you're doing something right.
Just imagine what you're putting someone through,
When you're disabling them,
Labeling them,
Believing something that has never been true.
But know it's up to you.
You can change this from being so blue.
Because imagine if it happened to you.

By Corynne Dittrich, age 15
Kasansa Kuya Jun 2020
a malignant haze
hitherto unnoticed and henceforth witnessed
the struggle of the enlightening
the ignorance and disdain
the death of George Floyd has driven me insane
I think people may feel this in these uncertain times.
JΛM Jun 2020
Atlas Jun 2020
Ironic how so many humans
Are lacking humanity
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