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ZL Oct 2015
I've wasted so much time,
living life, walking blind.

I've wasted too many years,
dehydrated from so many lost tears.

Exposing myself to different harm,
I've been foolish since I was born.

But now the change is taking place,
and no matter what I must finish the race.
Isabel Jimenez Oct 2015
What you can’t tell by looking at me…
is that i wish you could see what i see
but because you don’t you go ahead and without thinking twice,
you point the finger of judgement at me
and through your eyes you think of me as a criminal, illegal, poor
you don’t even question what is deeper inside besides the color of my skin

I wish you could see how much this hurts me
because maybe this isn’t your fault
that you were brought up to see corruption, drugs, violence
but listen to me, and trust me that there is another world out there
one story, one you have yet to hear
and i hope you find some way to appreciate it
until you feel the pain from our struggle
to make you think any different.
make you think I am not less than you

There are so many things you cannot see
this is my culture, soy hispana y orgullosa
and these are my people
my people, who are more than you think they are
for they are doctors, innovators, mathematicians, even scientists
you see, there are many things you have not seen, this is only the beginning

My people struggle for strength
nunca te dejes vencer, porque el triunfo puede estar de la esquina as my mother tells me
because pride is what keeps our will to fight going
it is what makes us want to make a change, una cambio
change your perception from rapists, homeless and corrupt
to normal everyday people
….
i hope one day you are able to see past the color of my skin
and to accept what is there
to know that we are not criminals, or crazed animals than what you set us out to be
no, we are more than that
we are human beings… just like you
Emmanuel Coker Sep 2015
I know this isn't a phase
I think i'd just cover my face
Stop before the start of the race
And just never leave this place

This is who I am
I am a loner
Breanna Stockham Sep 2015
Thoughts race inside
My unstoppable mind
As I lie, still as ever
In this bed of mine

Not moving, won't stop,
Can't grab them or drop
them on the floor under my feet
where they belong, I can't compete

I'd love to think of rivers
Or calming peaceful streams
Oh what I'd give to think of flowers
Or the buzzing sound of bees

Inside is a hurricane
Outside is a drizzle
I can't control my hurried mind
But at least it's working well

Oh I shouldn't complain,
Yes my thoughts run all day
Each one deeper than the last
And although I'm led astray
My thoughts tell me more
Than your words ever could
Because I've had a hundred
More thoughts than I should

Oh the thoughts race inside
My unstoppable mind
As I lie, still as ever
In this bed of mine
ConnectHook Sep 2015
Jesse Jackson, mug full of mush
hustling, shuffling race cards—
hush.

your mouth mutters on,
with vague perversity
staking claims upon diversity;

Stirring pots and agitating
mumbling, blaming, *******-baiting.

We know this is your bread and butter—
but must you thusly slur and mutter?

Rather than home-cooking sessions,
take some elocution lessons.

Spit those crackers out yo' mouth—
the gravy train is headed South . . .

Get a REAL job. Join the People.
Stop carding wool and fleecing sheeple.

You're hard for the herd to understand—
if I were you I'd change my brand.
https://connecthook.wordpress.com/2014/03/21/hush-yo-puppies-grit-yo-greens/

☺☻
Michael Kreitman Sep 2015
I don't think i could ever date a Caucasian women with a black name.
Just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Baylee Sep 2015
I close my eyes and count to ten,
I try to count sheep; those *******.

The haunting thoughts keep me up,
I'm exhausted but restless.

I try and try to keep my eyes shut,
Then once again I fail.

Maybe I'll sleep better in this position,
I think as I roll over.

Thoughts race through my mind
And continue to keep me up.

The good, the bad, and the ugly,
They all have the same effect.

The pillow is too hot, time to flip it,
Yeah, I'm sure this will help.

But I can't sleep because my life is
A living nightmare.
Charlie Chirico Aug 2015
The 20th century a new philosophy was introduced: Existentialism.

Existentialism is pertaining to human existence, and finding our ideal self, along with the meaning of life through free will. This German philosophy must have been confusing, because not long after the beginning of the next century, free will showed us that eradication and apathy can be achieved by "following orders" and not questioning the ideals of your country's ideology.

The idea of this philosophy is that humans are searching for who they are and what they will become by the choices they make based on their experiences without the complications of laws, traditions, or ethnic rules. Now, the ivory and ebony pieces that lay atop the granite chess board are one of a handful of acceptable, yet objective black and white cohabitations that can't function one without the other.

Strategically sound is the sycophant. Then in reference to people, how easy is it to spot a Parasite when trying your hardest not to be stereotypical? That is why it's easier to hate a person because the color of their skin rather than their theology and ancestry.

This idea of free will is sometimes misconstrued as a hindering factor in reference to the education system. Our foundation is put in place at an early age; this is our fundamental axis, and this reasoning is acceptable because
of our commitment and trust in conditioning ourselves.

And when you need to teach youth about hate and pass it off as love, you must regulate the educational systems, and propaganda needs to be subtle yet exposed in mass media and entertainment, along with chalkboards and textbooks.

Considering the learning differential, people who use a different side of their brain than a peer have a chance of excelling in their studies of specific subjects; however, this does not apply in all cases. See science and language as objective, and abhorrence as once subjective with an edit and an asterisk.

One factor is assumptions made regarding social structure. And this is what happens when something is driven by an economic imperative. But statistics are heavily confusing and easily manipulated when some groups of people are thrown figuratively and literally into ghettos.

This has made people a taxable commodity, but not one for a universal vantage. The reason for that has to do with the socioeconomic status of certain communities. Then again, when a country is at war with itself, being drafted will provide an individual with the necessary rations, and when you're wearing a uniform, bank statements do not matter.

From this point on we can put people into two classes: academic and non-academic.

None of which matters when you're staring at the barrel of a gun: automatic or semi-automatic.
Free verse poems aren't always enjoyed, and in some cases respected, but it is my favorite way to structure, or not structure my poems. Although there isn't a rhyme scheme there is close attention given to meter and my overall voice. I know that this poem in particular is a long read, as are some of my others, but I believe that many topics deserve length and cannot be expressed well enough in one or two sentences.

Thanks for reading.
- Charlie
Thomas Newlove Jul 2015
Time is a curious thing. The old cliché.
Not in a "heavy" Marty McFly way
But how, in one moment, you can pray for it
to grind to a halt.
Perhaps as you pound the asphalt
With your dancing shoes
Gasping, through puddles of ***** and **** and *****
To make the very last Nightlink
Of a heart-breakingly beautiful night out on Dublin streets.
And then another moment be wasting it away,
On writing poems, writing *******, writing the truth,
Or standing on the edge of a very tall library building roof
With the short sharp explosion of brain matter, praying it away
As it mulches on the concrete below.
Head first, to ensure success.
To ensure that for the love of god it isn't slow.
How time must crawl for people who can't move...

Each second dripping as slowly
as the painful near of a near-perfect tap.
Or "faucet" as they call it in America.
But then again we have buildings, pieces of paper, all kinds of crap
older than their whole country so what the hell do they know?
Their policemen shoot unarmed civvies or send them to prison  
as a sort of politically correct racial genocide
(because black privilege gets such lovely jumpsuits and body bags.)
Then again, we let priests ****** children here
and think **** is less upsetting than women's rights.
Time doesn't change how consistently wrong people can be I suppose?
If anything we overcomplicate ourselves.
Just think, if I had been born five hundred years ago
I would have died of pneumonia, or something asthma-related.
Or probably gone blind? My eyesight only is getting worse
(although is that to do with my endless-stream-of-computer-screens?)
I feel like that should be worse but I can't bring myself to decide.
Time seems to ask a lot of questions although maybe that is just
because I'm trying to stretch this poem out as long as it takes
before my twenties are over
and my life is more clear and certain
And I have a steady job that I hate
and I am less of a shambles
and have gotten over the depression
and the alcohol binges alone
and the fear of the future
and the self-doubt
and the loneliness
and the sickening
feeling in the pit
of your gut
when you
realise how
slowly
time is
passing
and you want to die.
Or not. I can never concentrate long enough to care.
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