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Mansi Mar 12
Why do you deserve what you have
And more?

While the man outside begging
For his life
Deserves what he has
And nothing more
Don't ask me how I've been
That's no longer your privilege
Don't try to care now when you couldn't care then
Don't start pulling at my heart unless you're ready to commit
It's too soon to be friends
Pecosa Mar 11
Cause we're not the lucky ones
With flower beds
We're not the lucky ones
Demons in our heads

Cause we're not the fortunate
Lying on silken sheets
We're not the fortunate
Never learned to sleep
Mansi Feb 20
You stand there and laugh
At your pedestal  
As if you’re better than me
But are you?

We both come from dirt
And will be dirt.
n Feb 12
"life's just been so hard.
i was bullied in middle school for like, a month straight."

he tells me this. he looks right at me.

i remember when i was grabbed and thrown across the floor
i remember when i was screamed at for trying to walk away
i remember when i was forced. over and over again.
i remember the apathetic glaze over my parents' eyes.

i look right at him. "i'm so sorry. that sounds horrible."

he looks at me. "you wouldn't understand."
he gets a call from his dad, asking how he is, and if he's having fun.
privilege can be hard to measure but like...
Did you realize it's a luxury
To feel that you know what you were made to be
Ron Gavalik Dec 2019
I’m a *****
who sells himself
for the privilege of food.
Existing in your world
of surface beauty
and splendor,
that’s the only payday
I’ve ever known.

–Ron Gavalik
Every time they speak
Of injustice in the streets
A silence is born

We watch the cries of widows
And hide beneath our pale skin
a Japanese tanka
for peace in solidarity

#BlackLivesMatter #BlueLivesMurder
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2019
Break me into chasm
then let the love pour in—
flower into deep well—
stem the umbilicus
of what you could say
you knew of me—

the privilege of living
inside your own head—
and me,
something made of sand,
a wink—

something of one
of many lives ago,
though how well
you knew me—
as did he—
how well they saw me—
and maybe no one did.

We were lovers
in a past life.
And now
I am obscure as
lost Atlantis, origin
of the fairy tale—
as gossamer and
the Holy Grail.
This poem came about after seeing somebody I used to know on Facebook making a comment on a mutual friend's wall.
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