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The blood in my ****** runs on the pure waters of the river
The blood in my ****** smells rotten like the person who ***** her
The blood of my life runs on the white of the cloud ...
The blood in my ****** smells like the baby I abhorred
The blood in my ****** smells like the curse of being a woman in the world without equality
The blood in my ****** smells like the mouths of women stifling rights
The blood in my ****** smells like ***** girls
The one of my life smells bad like the men who force their daughters to marry
The blood in my ****** smells like *** of ****** exploitation
The blood in my ****** smells bad like pedophiles.
The blood in my ****** smells the future. The blood in my ****** is female liberation.
Samira M Apr 18
Imagine you're in class, and there's a boy with a cross dangled on his neck.
I bet everyone thinks it's normal because his name's Jared, and his daddy drives a Corvette.
What about Isaac, the boy in English class who wears a yarmulke on his head, and fasts for holidays?
Were your anti-semetic slurs not enough to make him want to end his days?
And how about Iman from your class of History?
Why do your peers at school same her because she chooses to practice her faith differently?
Society has taught people that there are only certain religions to follow,
So excuse me, supremacists,
If America is so great, why does the environment feel so hollow?

So Jared, he must be pretty cool, right?
I bet he keeps his hair gelled and his jeans real tight.
He doesn't get called weird, and he doesn't get asked to take his necklace off.
So why does he get a free pass when everytime Iman walks by, a few people stare and scoff.
"So like, do you even have any hair?" they ask her as she walks down the hall.
She fixes her hijab annd puts her head down and drowns in a sea of embarrassment.
She can't help but sit and wonder why she even came to school at all.
the next day the kids at lunch rip off Isaacs yarmulke,
and ask about the labor of his ancestors.
"Well you have to know. you're Jewish!" they say. but they don't acknowledge his pain inside that festers.
"You should be proud of who you are and not judge others" the teachers chant.
But they cannot look me in the eye and tell me that that they haven't give "The Muslim and the Jew" a second glance.
So, excuse me, supremacists,
I beg of you; Let the children be free, let them dance through the day.
Let those with shadowed beliefs speak out, and say what they want to say.
Let the broken hearted children have the freedom to peacefully pray.

In your so called "Pledge of Allegiance" that you make the children rise for, you recite that we are all indivisible, and under God, but do you really believe that?
I mean you must not, since half of you reading this have done nothing and seen someone of another religion or race treated like crap.
So tell me, when was God decided to be marked absent in the classrooms where we are supposed to be taught?
Freedom? Equality? Justice? Aren't those the things for which our brothers fought?
Excuse me, Supremacists, let me tell you that closing the doors to God, opens the doors for the Devil,
and we cannot let the ignorance of those who are afraid to believe bring us down another level.

Those that you pushed down before? They pushed back, only harder
The boy you called a "***** Jew" , his faith only grew stronger.
The girl you called a "terrorist" and a "*******" , she went home and prayed a little longer.
Your hate wiil only fuel their faith. Your negativity is what burnt yours out.
You gave up on God, and the belief that he wasn't there to help you, filled your heads with doubt.
So, tell me supremacists,
Is it really those who peacefully practice that are in the wrong?
Or is it you, who lost faith and is scared,
So you keep singing the same old song?
Let the children be free,
Let the children live,
For if you deprive them of their religious freedom and acceptance,
They will have nothing left to give.
This was a slam poem I wrote for my english class in my 10th grade year.
Desire Mar 8
Our oppositions are subjective, yet
we're subject to our opinions
but differences deepened by
developing diversity is false dominion,
proving one thing to be true:
Neither of us get the final rule.
Human supremacy is a construct,
freeing me to believe in a higher power
outside of me and you...

If neither of us are supreme, then who?

@desire.is.dope
20190308
1712HRS
SUPREME
@desire.is.dope
20190308
1712HRS
AvengingPoet Jan 30
The sounds of another toxic culture
Letting out their voices
In red and white hats
With ******* answers to ******* problems
That don’t exist but the man on the cold screen
Told em’ it was true
Well, my friend, they told you a lie

What’s real or fake
It’s hard to tell
When the businessman
On the television
And tablet screens
Demands once again:
“It’s fake news!”
And the uneducated eat it up
Ignoring the fact
It’s like eating a Big Mac
For breakfast and lunch and dinner
Clogging your brain with absolute junk

Another day
Ten thousand more buzzes on my phone
Of breaking news

Maybe I should just throw the **** thing in a ******* river
And meditate and medicate for as long as I can
God knows I’m tired
God knows I’m tired...

And the kids in the red and white hats
Are standing in the way
To keep on a legacy
With historical ignorance
That only says:
“I belong here. You don’t. Stay out.”

God knows I’m tired.
Brent Kincaid Jul 2018
My child doesn’t need to behave.
Yours can be consigned to a grave.
My child is a bully, and that’s OK
Yours shouldn’t be in public anyway!
My child should go to any school he wants
Others only if they don't choose to flaunt.
Too bad if yours suffers misery,
We whites will just re-write history.

We prefer blacks go away and roam
Because we won’t finance their home!
We point to **** days like Attica
Then tell them to go back to Africa.
Don’t bother with a Freedom Bus!
Equal rights is only for us!
Interracial relationships sicken,
Just a case of the plot thickens!

None of this outrage would be true
If it was what whites get subjected to!
All that crap about White Supremacy
Has not one claim on legitimacy.
It’s totally wrong down to the ground,
Just an excuse to keep others down.
Criminalizing rights protestors
Is a social outrage altogether!

People at this stage in history
Still so unevolved is tragedy.
To even utter these hateful words
Are among the ugliest ever heard.
They only have themselves to blame
That they still remain the same.
It’s up to them to accept the challenge
And work to put mankind in balance!
kaylene- mary May 2018
Sometimes you are the gasoline to an already burnt building
Sometimes you are the anger of a child who broke his own toy
And sometimes you are a fist of rage,
Yelling at the television
A puff of smoke
You are the post apocalyptic chaos of a rip tide too far gone to break

See, racism is not the shark but it's the ocean
All teeth and no mouth,
No jaw and no muscle
Just the white rattle of hate
The sharp grip of an untrained dog

People talk about racism like ancestral land and confederate flags,
Knowing that you own these things,
And we don't 
As if we don't own this history too,
This system
Like we're tredding water

How many skin heads do you think were in the room when we signed off on immigration laws,
race legislations,
public school curriculums?
Or pushed policies like mandatory minimum sentencing,
benine neglect,
broken windows,
stop and frisk,
the race war?

Remember,
The eye of the hurricane is the least harmful part of the storm
You,
The eye of the chat room,
All poker face and no cards

So which individual Donald Trump bigot boogie man are we supposed to be mad at?
When do we stop pointing out the bad apples long enough to acknowledge the orchid was planted on a mass grave?
When do we stop slandering race and start slandering unsolicited rage?

Sharks **** about one person each year
Thousands drown

But of course this isn't really a poem for white supremacist
I don't know any white supremacist
But I do know the people in my neighbourhood,
And my family
And I know how white supremacy is upheld
Whether it is through action or inaction
How it isn't just the broken act of justice,
But the justice itself
How a white kid with a black face on Halloween and his friend who knew it was wrong but didn't say anything - start to blur together
Because let's be honest,
Some racists aren't even racist at all
So they say nothing
They're a silent chorus,
A dull underwater humming waiting to overflow
But when the songs of our cities break,
Will we choose to hear it?
Or will we keep looking for the shark,
Keep tredding water,
Not knowing that we're drowning?
Igorgoldkind Feb 2018
Today was every other day.

My boss says
"Hey Joe, where you going with that staple gun in your hand?"
I draw a blank on my face and turn to face his
.
"You don't really know, do you, Joe? 

You don't know where you're going.

You don't really know who you are.

You don't know much of anything anymore,

Do you now, Joe?"

Then he laughs at me 
In front of everybody
He laughs and points at

What everybody but me can see.

And everybody laughs and they laugh and they laugh

But nobody talks to me anymore.
My boss don’t talk to me anymore.
My neighbors don’t talk to me anymore.

My girlfriend don’t talk to me anymore.

My doctor don’t talk to me anymore.

My mother don’t talk to me anymore.
My father don’t talk to me because 

He's long since gone

Flown far away from the words to this song.

I call my girlfriend up on the telephone

She says,  "Joe, I'm not your girlfriend anymore"

And hangs up the phone.

Nobody talks to me anymore.

I call my doctor on the telephone

He says, "hello, is there anybody there"?
I say, "it's me, Joe, doctor help me, nobody talks to me anymore!"
My doctor coughs and hangs up the phone.

Nobody talks to me anymore.

I call on my priest in the church down the road

I say "Hello, Father? my Father, is that really you?"
"Please tell me, dear Father, what should I do?"

My priest says "Joe, God don't love you anymore"

And throws me out through God's front door.

Even God don't talk to me anymore.

So, I go down to a bar to have a little swim.

There's a bar stool there where the Cross should have been

The bartender looks at me,
But he doesn't say a word.

I hold up *******  pointing up at the sky
So he pours me a double, ten-year-old rye.
Which I toss down and motion for another
All the while calling him "my brother".
The bartender stares at my face
As silent as the stone sleeping inside of that wall.
Nobody talks to me anymore.



On the street, the headlights blind my blinking eyes.

Strangers push past me, some I know, most I despise.

A cop car pulls up and flashes his bright light on me

The cop points his flashlight in my eyes so that I can't see.
But we already know, there's nothing he or I need to say.

He won't arrest me.
It just ain't worth it to talk to me anymore.

A ghost walks up and stares into my face.
He doesn't say a word; 
just hangs there in space
And  spins ribbons of colored lights

Inside my head.

There's no knowing with ghosts no more
The dead don't talk to me anymore.

Suddenly I see an explosion of lights

There's trumpets and harps and angels in sight
A liquor store, neon vision of light
Promises me the spirits of salvation
 and delight,
If I just step inside.


While next door, a gun store slowly cracks open its door . . .

I am my father and my mother's son and

I’ve never before bought me a gun,
But nobody, nobody talks to me anymore.

Igor Goldkind © 2018
Written in January;  predictive enough but sadly not amazingly so.
sara galluzzo Jan 2018
I sit disgustingly high on my throne
Looking down at those who don't share the same pigment
A sliver plate was placed in front of me at birth
On it had everything i’d ever need
Financial stability, a house, clothes
Food, parents, education, safety
My heart pumps nothing but racism through my veins
An artery of cruelty and death

I strongly believe that ‘diversity’ equals white genocide
More of them means
Less attention on me  
Confederate flags litter my house
My car, my clothes
A simple reminder of the good ol’ days
Kicking them, Kidnapping them, Killing them  
My life is now
Being waited on hand and foot
My every move watched
My every need taken care of
My husband
As rich and powerful as he is
Through his fragile and egotistical nature
Shows no mercy to me and my kids
I will never struggle to provide for my family
I started my life on the top of the ladder
For my skin is my privilege

Someone is lying….

If i showed you a mere glimpse of my life
And the world’s nearly unbearable
Weight on me
Would you believe it?
I carry a list of illnesses from A to Z
A suicidal uncle who no longer shares
the same air as me
Colour, race, and religion
Hold no limitations to my pain
The day in ,the day out
Cold, Suffering
I will not be constricted to
the rules set on whites
By whites
I am defined by my actions
I stand before you as I am
I am well read and independant
Fiery and calm
I walk my path with integrity pulling my head high
And shoulders back strong

I am made from my experiences
I am not constrained to my personal history  
I was taught this social cancer
But surely, this can always be forgotten  
For my skin is my privilege
And my privilege is being me
Hodan Khalif Dec 2017
if only someone could rise from the grave,

and tell me what lies beyond this world,

perhaps I’d wake up knowing,

heaven isn’t like this,

that it won’t stink of dead children,

that english won’t haunt our tongues,

that it isn’t discovered by Colombus or another white man who seems to discover everything for us,

that its rivers won’t be flowing with our ancestors tears

and its homes won’t be built on their steel-like spines,

because maybe, heaven won’t know grief like black mothers,

won’t have to soak in the injustices white terrorism scattered,

wont bleach out my history and skin,

because if even in heaven my people are refugees,

if they’re still numb ****** and foreign speaking terrorists,

if my existence is still a cause of discomfort for the ‘normal’ folk

then past the grave ,

nothing but stillness awaits people like me,

but at least all this pain and violence won’t follow us to the grave,

coz’ if even if our lives were designed for wounds and pain,

it won’t be here,

At least my grave,

Won’t take my life twice.

// If heaven is still like this
Story Oct 2017
What we idealize
We condemn.
Strip it from the backs
Of those we oppress,
Notwithstanding ourselves.
Cram it in a box marked “DO NOT TOUCH” -
A false preservation.
Fasten wonder and difference in
Wax-body museums.
The overture of youth, displaced.
Forcibly removed and
Compartmentalized until
Homogeneity reigns supreme
In the halls of collective memory.
Admonishment replaces admiration.
The administration demands -
How dare anyone have what
We stole from ourselves?
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