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Travis Dixon Feb 2019
the white race, paunched,
couched in lazy righteousness
steeped in knee-**** fright of us--
terrified by the sight of
our history of shamefulness
in every passing headline
and obit crossing the line
that makes the deadline,
day by deadly day
due to the arrogance of men
who refuse to even listen
to the obvious injustice
pouring since i don't know when--

our nation's deepest wound
forever reopened to bleed again
and again
and again
and again
Michael King Feb 2019
I've seen blood dripping from the willows.

Seen it rolling in drops down the cheek
of a young girl,  not long in her adolescence.

The confusion was the worst part. She
didn't know why she was dying. Alone.
The ****** grass beneath a lost friend
of comfort.

But the white man knew. As he pulled up. his trousers,  a savage grin on his face
as he rubbed her agony over and over...

She lays. Fragile. A heart now gone. A
beautiful life now stolen.

The sun sets as the man walks off.
He is thinking about his wife and kids.

His other thought is how he put just
another slave where she belonged.

A butterfly glides through the willows today.
It floats and lands on the outstretched
hand of a dead girl.

It looks towards her face. Another river
running red. Another of God's
master works removed from life's rhythm.
Eslam Dabank Jan 2019
Love is dead, I know.
I was the one who unleashed the arrow,
And left us a deadly hallow.

I cough out poisonous words,
Thought I'd tame you with injections,
But,
A python you turned out to be.
One, who never kneels.
Your fangs fill my throat with lies,
You choke me with your "cuddles".
I've always yearned for power,
And dignity,
But I'm transparent in your slavery.

I was a bright star,
Now I'm nothing but a scar.

But we'll be making love like savages,
I'll absorb the venom off your kiss,
I'll let you allure me into your darkness,
I'll pretend I'm alive for one lethal bliss,
I'll sacrifice my thrones for your filthy roses,
To make love like savages.

Barefoot crossing a path of swords,
Skin on skin with devil's hell fires,
Mud blood running through my viens,
defiling my mind,
And turn it into madness.

A madness,
Where you're the god of all gods.
What slave have I become!
Embracing servitude,
Desire no rebellion,
Please! O, my will! Succumb!
To her, with gratitude,
Besides Beauty, there’s none.

I vow to cede control,
No action beyond me,
Beauty is my master!
I’ve no need for my soul,
Beauty, I cede to thee
Fortune or disaster!

Liberty is worthless!
My eyes must stir the heart!
Why live, and not seek you?
I publicly confess,
To Beauty, to Astarte,
You command all I do.
Instagram @insightshurt
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Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
There are 7.6 billion fools to this day
and I build an understanding to stand among them.
I came to the haven of insecurity to find the unknown
and to worship the word of my Professors like a slave.
I bow down to the, end all be all, grades of disappointment
As if these C's will give me the edge one day;
the sway over everybody else to secure my existence.
I yearn to matter in anyway possible,
In a society that wants to ***** out my contributions.

Thus far,
I can not compare to the greats in their sepulchers,
Nor can I circumvent my disposition of miniscularity.
But one day when I know what those fancy words truly mean
I will reign down from above
And hopefully take my place next to the others...
Dead and in a grave of my own.
This poem is absolutely my truth! Hope you all enjoy!
s Willow Jan 2019
Wispy moonlight beams,
enter the barren church
a place of dreams.
Outside next to a silver birch.
Inside women in search for someone,
someone long gone.
I kneel upon the alter.
The pain fills the void with slaughter.
A slave, frozen to his peace.
Nothing left to hang on.
It’s the end run.
Robbed forms,
lifted the storms.
However, my naked flesh spared not.
Africa my Africa
Africa of proud warriors in the ancestral savannah,
Africa my grandmother sings of
Beside her distant river
I have never seen you
But my gaze is full of your blood
Your black blood spilt over the fields
The blood of your sweat
The sweat of your toil
The toil of your slavery
The slavery of your children.

Africa, tell me Africa
Are you the back that bends
Lies down under the weight of humbleness?
The trembling back striped red
That says yes to the sjambok on the road of noon
Solemnly a voice answers me
"Impetuous child, that young and sturdy tree
That tree that grows
There splendidly alone among white and faded flowers
Is Africa, your Africa." It put forth new shoots
With patience and stubbornness put forth new shoots
Slowly its fruits grow to have
The bitter taste of liberty
The struggle for liberty
Shin Nov 2018
Hello little Jack staring at the wall,
wandering amongst dustmites as they fall.

Hello little Janie jumping downstream,
waiting for mother's panic-stricken scream.

Children of days and nights and days again,
dance in the sunlight my sweet minutemen.

Enjoy the color before she's swept grey.
Oh my darling please just live for today.

Because there's no way that this can go on
before the cogs entrap you in their con
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