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I worry for the world.
I do, it’s true.
I worry for the world,
Through and through.

On this earth,
There’s so much wrong.
It decreases worth.
We’re never strong.

Echos and rings,
From the shots of war.
There’s many things,
There’s so much more.

There’s starvation, poverty,
Racism, inequalities,
All of these things bother me.
All of these things cause casualties.

Starvation and hunger
Affect many people,
Adults and younger.
All hope there’s no sequel.

I could write a book on racism.
It’s been done before,
And it’s caused quite a schism.
Drops jaws to the floor.

Inequality sickens me
And many others, too.
Everyone has the right to be.
To be who they want to.

Every person is a snowflake,
Unique in every way,
But we push them ‘til they break,
And don’t see another day.

Bullying leads to taken lives,
To sadness and to fear.
Doing awful things with knives
And shedding many tears.

Social media has taken over
Human robots, too many.
I’m lucky as a clover,
Because I don’t have any.

Parents’ expectations are too high.
Kids are failing class.
Many of them cry,
And are as fragile as glass.

Celebrities are idols,
Yet many are fools.
They’ve become our rivals,
Not as precious as jewels.

Technology is worshipped,
It’s addictive like a drug.
Society will worsen.
It’s time to pull the plug.
Sam 2d
"Somewhere", spoke the grey lips in the wall.
Somewhere before sunrise,
before the first bird crows to dawn
and the apathetic are yet to uncurl
the grit that gathers like dust
between the fold of shallow eyes.
"Somewhere". A derogatory term.
Their humanity bears no resemblance to us
as skin and bone the only price to pay
for "unpeople".
Cities made of paper,
soaked in a drought. Somewhere East.
Or maybe South?
Somewhere far from the guilt
that laden our stomach with lead.
So alien to home, allotted just enough frames
for you to feel how fortuitous;
but not enough so the screams
swallow your evening meal and you swat the sound of flies
pouring through the static of your transient box.
Aditya Roy Nov 21
The fire burns
Inside me
Asking for water
Seems like a crime
When the only light
You see is a candle
TO help you with your studies

Sitting under a street lamp
Sketching the street lights
"Love is a serious mental disease"-Plato
the chevy hard knock.
varied origins of afro youth,
in the tint of dark,
in the Havana rock.

rich rock in the palm,
pummels in the trunk,
and the narrow cracks
of La Habana funk.

rugged daughters,
draw the physical art,
sons form the
majestic canvas.

trumpet songs,
echo her soul tonight,
and she wails at hints
of the mornings right.

driven on the uneven black,
is hope of excitement.
curiosity risen from the street,
of opportunities coveted.

what more, in Cuba,
to live and die,
to love and feel,
to suffer and sweat.

It is all beautiful,
and it is all classic.

eyes beholding
futbol on corners,
tough children, play much
on rough dust.

a Cubana, with skin
as buttered chocolates,
crossing from shade to sun,
****, and gracious.

tonight is loading,
buffering the cigar smokes,
the groovy 76 being shoved
with memory and revelry.

Here, in Havana.
sound is telling
a living story,
an active pleasure.

.. and it is all classic.
All classic.
here,
In Havana.
For imagery of an upcoming musical piece.
Izzy Aghahowa Nov 12
in a fragile state
underneath the rocks
in a cave far away
as loneliness is the most
terrible poverty they say

slow moving oceans
winds of ascendancy
tired waves meet the melted shoreline
in an eye of mine
in a different space and time

it's always strange, when the coldest nights
are the ones amongst the hot city lights
and the warmest
amongst the spirits found in the cold freshwater
". . .poverty robs individuals of the life of the mind, of spiritual comfort and of the consolations of intimacy and emotional bonds."

-Maura Spiegel,
Introduction to 'The Jungle' 2003 edition, Barnes and Noble Classics
slr Nov 9
“I’m sad.”
“Why?”
“She gets more likes on Instagram than I do.”

“I’m happy.”
“Why?”
“I have a bed to sleep on.”

“I’m sad.”
“Why?”
“My parents won’t buy me a car.”

“I’m happy.”
“Why?”
“I have food today.”
Why not be content with today?
Kelsey Nov 9
Mom
I have always claimed you
As my heart.
For I remember
The delicacy of your hands
Touching my face
When I needed your love.
The walls you would build around me
When you knew I didnt have the courage
To face whatever was on the other side.
The calm song of encouragement you would sing to me
When I convinced myself
Not to believe in me.
The joy in your eyes when it was
Pizza friday even when we didnt have the funds to do it
But ***** it, its pizza friday!
Mom, we've had our fights.
Your drunken nights
I would sometimes scream
To see if the Chardonnay had reached The level of your ear drums yet.
To see if your balance was unconscious again.
And when you started smoking cigarrettes,
My blood caught fire like the white tip of your newest fatal hobby.
After losing Dad, I get your stressed out,
But why do we now have nothing to ******* talk about?
Except money.
"What am I going to do?"
Ive heard it my whole life, Mom.
Because poverty is like a greedy leach
It's never satisfied,
Never ready to move on to the next
Sap with the hopes of
A white picket fence and a beautiful golden retreiver
Thats what you wanted, your whole life,
Right, Mom?
And now,
We only talk
About priorities.
Because when I'm around you
For more than five minutes,
I become Me from the past.
Your daughter locked in her room,
Afraid
Avoiding
But still missing you.
Now,
Whenever you dont return my call,
My mind slips into the dark place, remember?
The place I needed help from.
Yeah, its still there.
I fear that you are dead,
Rotting in your house
Alone.
Because Im not there.
And dad's not there.
No one is there.
Daunting, knocking on the inside of my skull,
'What are you doing? Are you okay?'
I want to help.
I dont want to make another mistake
Like when dad died
I wasnt there.
Mom,
I love you
So so much.
Please stay alive.
Please, place your hands and
Touch my face.
I love you with all my heart, mom. Even though weve been through so much pain and heartbrwak and anger, I will always love you in this life and the next. You are my whole heart, always.
The wind is full of shallow nothings
Drought, fire, vermin, climate, poverty
Rustling the leaves with a gossip
Deep roots will never hear
Offered in the age of "alternative facts."  Peace.
Murdered egos run sullied
Down your streets.
Dreams lost to misfortune,
Hoping to catch a beat.
There are no big breaks here,
Only small miracles.
Still,
America has taken my fortune.
I give and give
But never get to take myself.
You're my everything
Because you've taken everything.
Why am I still nothing to you?
The Land of Opportunity for the few
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