"unruly" poems
**1.Language
Dissolved in a kiss
their eyes created
a new language.
2.Symbol
there was an eloquent
black mole
under her lower lip
3.Silence
The unruly crowd
fell silent
in her profound presence
4.Delusion
Her lover, an anthropologist,
suspected her as a new species!
5.Take bath now, not for cleanliness
Her bathing him wasn't
about cleanliness;
amorous explorations aren't.**
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like recycling scar tissue you refuse to show
Like holding the words to a cookbook containing the recipe for disaster
Like the blood of an open wound placed by the whip of an unruly master
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like when you finally learn the meaning of you reap what you sow
Like a magnificent sand castle washed away by the sea
All the sand becomes one and denies the right to be free
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like the sting from the phrase I told you so
Like a deer caught in headlights frozen dead in it's tracks
Like gazing the stars if we could just climb the smoke stacks
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like excluding truth from what you think you know
Like playing life in a game of poker, and the *** is everything but cheap
Karma has the high hand, face up, read'em and weep
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like running through red lights because all you want is to go
Like a jack of all trades who can't fix his own heart
Like the tortoise that took off before the race even start
Even sunflowers need the rain to grow
Like a hundred oars and no arms to row
Nov 4, 2010
Nov 4, 2010 at 8:31 AM UTC
Ah.. shes here...I shuffle around the stalls... watching..out of the corners of my eyes.... she knows ....Intimacy...a hand on flank..careful..
.you'll break me....with your gentle hands..
..My hard mouth....your soft lips..
..unruly, unruled....old horse...a kiss.
.. Confused, ...stallion in name only.
... You whisper... My ears *****
... forward..the hunt! ....your scent on..
..My bridle...I smell u still...
.. Calm...Comfort...Welcome...
.Gentled, not too gently....a strong hand.
. It grows trust …..truth...a Stallion! Once more.
Panting...pawing...'Be easy'..nervous eyes roll.
.a hand on the neck...a caress..'Gently '...you whisper,
.... hot breath against ear
… I snuffle and toss my head
…. still a bit frightened…..her power!
..Will you ride.? ! ..firm thighs and buttocks..
..Toes point... Heels dig...all Give and Take….
. Instruction to...from...the muscled beast.
..straddled. Awkward… too long without….
..A Rider … the matching... Gait with hip...
Walk-on.. Trot, pounding...Heels clip.
..faster, just a bit..Then smoothly they fit her to him.
...a canter.....this long stretch....rocking like one creature
….each a part of the other...breathing evenly…
...caught ….. Breath comes quick...bodies warm.
. Exertion...strength..trust.. Leaning forward..
knees grip..pulling...toes curl..in..
..hot breath..whisper in an ear… Now!
...hands grip mane... As they clench
… bit between the teeth...She..
...gives him his head... Finding his rhythm
…. home in sight...a last burst……
Rider/Stallion sweat soaked … blood pounding..There... againthe scent of her...Sweet Hay rising.
..she whispers… yes oh yes… I knew…
you had it in you.. In me...oh gods….YES! ! .
. No! not the pasture yet for you.. She chuckles..
.bodies tangled in sheets ….. Her mane of dark hair..
Scent of her fills him …
glad to be..Alive? Yes..head…. Heat…
heart...bursting…Not now… But soon.
. A gift.. This youth.. Who see's value in an old war horse.
..ridden.. but no more to war and blood..
.gentled, both he and she… sleep…bridled passion.
..her...a scent of sweet hay…
.him...an old spice..and gunpowder? ..mmm.
by Alexander K Hamilton
Jan 20, 2017
Jan 20, 2017 at 12:01 AM UTC
Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious april walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds' irregular babel
And the leaves' litter.
By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover's gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower;
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.
How she longed for winter then! --
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock; each sentiment within border,
And heart's frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.
But here -- a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into ****** motley --
A treason not to be borne; let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.
And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.
19.1k
we so easily pluck weeds from the garden
because the look unruly and don’t go with the tulips
but in life
we don’t segregate the suicidal, emotional, and unstable
because they are that way
from the steady breathers
we are a world of dandelions
with a rare tulip
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
One early morning along the quiet forest floor, a little mushroom popped it's head out of the ground. Looking in wonder, he pushed passed the dead leaves and dirt to reach for sunlight below the canopy.
"STOP!" said the forest. "You have been unruly. We have seen you try to grow with discord and disregard, denying the order. And what are you, alien? Identify as plant or animal!"
The little mushroom responded, "But I only did as you did; made a home. Like the rooted trees pillar in our leafy halls, as the moss nestles among the rocks, or how the birds nest in their hollows, why am I so different? I am both you and me."
The forest inhabitants pondered. In this time the mushroom grew and died. It took too long for the trees and the birds and the moss to agree by the time their fellow forest friend had passed.
The trees, too slow to interrupt, cried out to all, "What have we done?! we may not have thought him as beautiful as the rest of us, but the mushroom was a part of this forest!"
As a parting token, the little fungi grew a network of strands below the trees roots to support them all, feeding and protecting them even in death.
With it's dying breath, it dropped it's spores, to which would grow bountiful among the forest floor, among the trees and the rocks and moss. They had not known it, but the little mushroom was a part of a greater fungi, miles across. It had been there as long as the forest, keeping the trees company since time began, before humans, before us.
Only the trees had the knowledge to understand the little mushroom, but their voices were too quiet, too slow. So the trees let the mushrooms grow in their branches and on their logs to give them a home.
Jan 21, 2016
Jan 21, 2016 at 1:35 PM UTC
People like doors
And people are like doors.
People like to be open
To new people and
New experiences.
People like to be closed
So they can keep themselves
Free of unruly things like
Feelings and protect themselves
From getting hurt.
People like to open doors
To new opportunities and
Things that will make them feel secure
Or jettison them into success.
People like to close doors
Behind them so that you can't follow
When they decide that you're not good enough
And walk away from you.
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 5:13 AM UTC
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
But it won’t reveal my inner mystery
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
My Latina nature sometimes precedes my personality
People try to tell me who I am and they whisper, “I bet she…”
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
He says, “I know about you Latin girls…” but the only one who can enlighten me about me, is me.
To them I’m nothing more than another Jenny from the Block, but I’m not here to entertain you, let me educate you
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
My curls exude confidence, beauty, and *** appeal; they keep secrets, create dreams, and remind me how bright I expect my future to be
My hair does define me. But not as you define it, as I do. I am everything I believe my hair means
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
Latinas are fierce, they are fire, and they are dangerous. Maybe we’re that way because you won’t let us be.
Can I just be me? Why do I have to be the person you want me to be?
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
I’m tired of society’s shackles, so I ignore what society expects me to be
I love my curls, I love them when they’re frizzy, unkempt, and unruly. My curls are me.
My curls are everything you wish you knew about me
My hair means young, it means wild, it means free.
~Karina
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 10:39 PM UTC
Judge, Jury and Executioner
Grudge, Unruly and T-Rex Dinosaur
Munch, Lunch and Gulp
Yours truly,
The Judge, Jury and Executioner eaten by the T-Rex
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
There are some nights
When i look up at the sky and fall in love
Over and over again.
Gazing at the night sky
unfurl into deeper hues of blue
indicating the end of
yet another day.
Stars as if diamond flung up
into an inky facade.
The moon, shinning in its glory
As if the divine halo of the Almighty himself.
A celestial space so immense
where my mind can wander limitless.
I embrace the silence of the night and
leap into its angelic gloom.
They say dark is evil, an unruly nemesis
But now as I lie under this murky sky
I realize
Dark has a bewildering beauty.
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 5:26 AM UTC
there is an anchor attached to my heart and i am trying to get it to come off because it's making my chest feel heavy and painful yet you tell me that this anchor is actually yours and that it is the only thing making me stay with you in this unruly ocean
so i keep the anchor because it gives you comfort and not because it is the only thing keeping me steady
i don't need it to keep me here
you are enough reason to stay
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 10:25 PM UTC
My easel, has been asleep
for a while, like a whale
on the lost deep seas
finding a prey
to victimise
to sate the belly full.
Your easel, sees in my eyes
the robbers on the blink
of an unruly end
finding recognition
in social media
to favor ego
to sate the belly full.
Your easel, is a mellow fine lens
Hands in line holding a gun
set a trigger, to silence the crowds
the doom in the public cruise
trollers and vipers with wipers
to sate the belly full
What have we come to dear friend?
we seek fame and lose our self
to the shadows of the masses
who denude our dignity
to gain their sanity
to sate the belly full
What have we come to dear friend?
in the spaces of the contours between
dehumanised by the social media
the medium of the century voice
the armageddon of currency
that sate to fill it's belly
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 1:45 PM UTC
Josiah Jack
never uttered a sound
when they dragged him away
from the scene.
when his poor body
was eventually found,
the treatment endured,
had been mean.
With no tongue in his head
they had left him for dead.
With a month
on his back,
he did indeed
contemplate.
Only sin
“he was black”
hence forth
this weary state.
They attacked in the night,
hooded and white.
All in all
he was
lucky
to be
breathing at all,
all because
he was plucky,
all because
he stood tall.
A ***** they said
should lower his head.
Were they hooded
for fear?
Were they hooded
in shame?
Most likely,
once covered,
they could hide
of their name.
If things were so right,
why hide out of sight?
Bravery isn't
a word for the ****
Cowards,
this word comes to mind.
Bravery comes
when there's only one man,
not one
with ten more stood behind.
I will strike in a pack
with someone watching my back.
Their plan
was to ****
this man
Josiah Jack.
Perhaps they
get a thrill
when someone
cannot fight back.
They get real loud
when they join with the crowd.
Josiah
knew well
that if he
raised a hand
his kin folk
would feel hell
from this
unruly band.
So he did not fight
but gave in to his plight.
They think
they were hidden
beneath that
white hood,
Josiah's hearing
is sound
and his
memory is good.
So when things are forgot,
he will take of his lot.
That's exactly
what happened,
as they lay
in their bed.
The flames hurled
with fury
the sky
filled with red.
This man barbequed them like fish on a rack
and no one put it down to Josiah Jack.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 4:22 PM UTC
Haircut
Strands of hair unruly way
Hair cut an adventure of the day
Scrolling through the models on book
pictures in mind to decide the look
Hair cut an adventure of the day
Through the times in a different way
young ones cry of the barbers scissor
A grim look of teen in the mirror
every hair cut in the heart a terror
Good or bad an haircut is an adventure
pety
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
I am not my age
I'm more than a hoodie
Stood on a street corner
Hands in my pockets
I am not my age
I'm more than popular music
Blasting in my headphones
So loud you can hear
I am not my age
I'm more than just hormones
Racing through my brain
Making me unreasonable
I am not my age
I'm more than just indifference
Not caring about school or health
Not caring about anything
I am not my age
I'm more than just my phone
Social-media crazy
Hidden behind a screen
I am not my age
I'm more than just a stereotype
Loud, brash, unruly, lazy,
Phone-obsessed, violent
I am not my age
I have a complex personality
I have inner depth
I think about things that matter
I am not my age
I write poetry
I write stories
I explore people
I am not my age
I'm vegetarian by choice
I hate to hurt anyone
But I will fight for my friends
I am not my age
My emotions are valid
But I keep them hidden
For fear of being manipulative
I am not my age
I do not give you my respect
Just because you've lived longer
You have to earn it
I am not my age
I care about politics
It is my country
What happens to it matters to me
I am not my age
I'm struggling through exams
I'm stressed but trying
I'm determined to work for what I want
I am not my age
I'd be happy to have a job
I don't loiter or lurk
I'm not lazy
I am not my age
I'm not dangerous
Seriously, I'm a ****
I get scared walking down the street in the dark
I am not my age
I have five pets
They matter to me
I take care of them
I am not my age
I'm trying to get to school
You don't indicate
And I'm inconsiderate
I am not my age
My dad left me at two
My mum bakes cakes
But you didn't think about that
I am not my age
I suffer from depression
I'm not 'moody' or 'grumpy'
But you think I'm all just hormones
I am not my age
So don't perpetuate stereotypes
You don't know me, don't pretend to
And don't blame your problems on me
Nov 8, 2015
Nov 8, 2015 at 10:20 AM UTC
I remember our garden,
Wild and beautiful.
Flowers snaked out over cracked paths,
Overgrown orchids and unruly dahlias
Crossed calla lilies,
As they protruded through the jungle
Of luscious foliage.
I remember the smell of jasmine.
It hung heavy in the thick summer air,
Heady and delicious. It was the sweetest
Intoxication and my Mother basked in it.
She would sit for hours under
The old mango tree, cigarette
Smoke coiling around her
As she watched the sun steadily
Disappear behind grey islands.
I longed to reach out to her.
To break her trance,
And infiltrate her thoughts.
I wanted to her to take me with her
Into those private moments.
I didn’t understand it then.
I remember the tune she would hum.
Those long, low notes, penetrating
From her soul.
As I put the silverware away, I hum it.
I hum it in memory of my indigo life,
Turned magnolia.
How I long for that mango tree now,
A hundred years old. His strong
Arms stretched around me,
And my own private moments.
Through the double-glazed windows,
I watch my husband gardening
And wonder. Should I bring him a glass of
Ice-cold lemonade, like
The wives on American TV?
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 3:02 PM UTC
I think it's my eyes.
The glowing hazle stare
blankly piercing through
whatever bubbles you've shielded
yourself with.
Arms crossed means you're defensive,
raised tone towards the end of a sentence
means you're lying
but when your lips scrunch together
you're holding back something.
Maybe it's
my thought process.
One second
I'm talking about polar bears
celebrating birthdays with ******* and hexagrams
when I shift
to a rant about my self empowerment
through meditation and how astral travel
might be real.
Perhaps I'm too comfortable
with myself for you to handle.
I don't give a **** how tangled my hair is
or what weird religious doctrines you follow.
Let's have a conversation,
not an unruly **** measuring contest.
I truly love you,
and all my mild frustration
and slight agitation is radiating
from a place in my heart
that tells me I want you to succeed the most.
Jul 3, 2012
Jul 3, 2012 at 6:21 PM UTC
Glance at the bullied survivor with no hair left at all,
Look twice and you'll notice
She's still standing tall.
Watch the former gang leader, walking submissively,
Look twice and see the trail of tears,
As he searches for the winding road to recovery.
Observe the old man scrawl a name in the snow,
Look twice and see a father,
Mourning his murdered daughter buried down below.
Admire the woman you love for sure,
Look twice and realize that,
Due to her past abuse, she's still insecure.
Witness the beating of a man done in vain,
Beneath his unruly hair and dark eyes, look twice-
Don't you see pain?
I recognized the quiet woman, generous to the core.
I looked twice and saw my mother,
Still tortured by memories of the Vietnam War.
Dismiss the endless news reports of crime and abuse,
Look twice and understand,
Violence starts with the power to choose.
Awaken and see the world through new eyes,
Look twice at society and find out,
You've been telling yourself lies.
See the disabled, the victims, those who made the wrong choices,
Look twice and listen,
Now can you hear their agonized voices?
I realized the world was never the cordial society I'd dreamt it to be.
I looked twice and found out,
Stopping violence begins with me.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 9:44 AM UTC
U for unknown.
You never want to be named.
U for ulterior.
There is so much to you I don't know about.
U for umbrage.
When you get angry or go insane.
U for unassailable.
You will always be a leader.
U for unruly.
No one knows how to control you.
U for unify
Everyone comes together for you.
U for unique.
because you are incomparable.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 4:14 PM UTC
Resisting your surrender
Like a passionate pretender
Cursing your existence
So unruly cant even believe it
Rehearsing until morning
For a ending to your story
Searching for a reason
Why you’re always out of season
Still wearing those ***** clothes
And swearing at the Her ghost
Living in your furry
Just makes things more blurry
Some drunken thrills
Followed by some healing pills
Staring at the mirror
Thinking it will look clearer
Resisting your departure
And what seems like constant torture
Insisting on the weather
To lead you somewhere farther
Counting on tomorrow
To release you from your sorrow
Leads you to forgiveness
Repenting all your sins and
Starting a new chapter
In this new world that you are after
Living in the moment
Gives you quick atonement
Walking from the ashes
The past and what it’s taken
Your soul now unbroken from this spell
That had you been under
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 8:26 PM UTC
who am i?
what am i?
is my identity determined by my actions?
so that makes me a girl who'd rather write than live
and takes in life about as well as a siv
but is that all i am?
because that excludes the laughter
the offkey singing
the mediocre horn playing
and my lack of praying
or is the only me who matters
the one who is seen
through a million other eyeballs?
she says i'm a talent, a bottomless pit
a good friend, one you'd want
a girl obsessed with times new roman font
someone who's all the best parts of salty and sweet
but tell me, if that's the truth
then how come my phone isn't blowing up with calls?
am i little else than the me in the mirror?
two little tired chocolate truffles
unruly dark hair
skin that doesn't know what to be
all contained underneath a makeup mask
it's difficult to put a label on a person
while also taking time to imagine them complexly
to call me just one name ignores the best and the worst
the person in love with language
also uses it as a weapon to attack
the girl with a chip on her shoulder
never wants to look back
inside of me is a multitude of ladies
pretty preppy ladies
singing show girls
nifty nerd chicks
to choose one and ignore the rest would be a sham
so maybe i don't know who i am
and maybe that's okay
Aug 30, 2017
Aug 30, 2017 at 7:25 PM UTC
happiness is fleeting
obsolete
cold like the sleet
it gets
when it wets
and success
comes in a disguise
wearing a dress
dreaming
of happiness
realizing
what it means
to be
not to be brought
or bought
or taken
with a restless mind
it's an image of time
in which relaxation
happens
without the need
of a glass of wine
or a drop of this
hit of that
the happiness to be had
do you think
you deserve all of that
to feel good again
to do something
that makes you feel guilt
something you feel
to be a rude awakening
that keeps you waking
in your sleep
your dream
you thought you had
could come true
unruly
attributes
begin to penetrate
what you had in place
what you wanted
thought you needed
a happy place
you built in your mind
gets crushed
by reality
now you're blind
to what happiness is
but you continue to live
and redefine
shape it
make it
and see
what you can find
is it happiness?
sadness
and gladness
and manics
panics
attacks
angry outbursts
not being able
to relax
has its way
into your life
how do you make
happiness
the number one
most felt
feelings
that you normally
feel
how do you make that real
that happiness
how do you not conceal
your happiness
without letting
the people around you
clown you
down you
try to put you in a place
where they are
which isn't at
the same spot
you're trying to be
the happiness
as it fleets
and you grasp
at your bed sheets
satin
slips away
through your fingers
give it time and let linger
feel breathe
get happiness
and when you see someone who needs it
and you still have some that lasts
go from within
and give it right back
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 3:57 AM UTC
i love you,
fresh from
the shower.
glistening and wet,
smelling of aftershave.
"coolwater" by davidoff. often aslo sandlewood,
goat soap, from the local
farmers markets.
i love you,
dressed up smart.
in a brook's brother's way
dress pants and shirt,
blue linen vest.
johnny walker silk bow tie,
untied is best. then your twist,
(not as original as you think)
converse skaties, no socks
and bone bleached cuffs,
turned up.
i love you,
in your work gear.
just come home,
you smell of sweat.
clean and healthy,
always wood shavings
caught up, in your
unruly shaggy hair.
cargo shorts and
t-shirts,
that have seen,
many days of worksite wear.
size elevens in your hands,
those big feet and freaky toes
bare, ******* in the air.
i love you,
in board shorts and rashie.
rushing into the surf,
hand in hand.
with the energetic bundle
of love,
to which we gave birth.
it is not as though,
clothes made this man,
but boyohboy, you, frame them well.
it s the heart, the chuckle
the hands, the philosphy,
the clever, erudite, caveman,
the downright,
man-dumb bloke.
that endears, your heart to
mine.
it is, that you really listen
and take the time,
to make me feel and be,
phenomenal, wise, sensual
and beautiful beside.
i love you,
best, in my bed.
moving slow and sure,
undressed, silk and velvet.
as we express,
the reality of our love
and whisper words,
well known,
and cry to heaven above.
i love you,
then, here, now and eons
on.
even after the worlds
memory of us,
is nothing,
dust upon the breeze
our love,
will carry, forth
stardust on heaven's winds
and cries of our love and ecstasy
will birth worlds anew
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 5:38 PM UTC
What if they had a War and nobody came !
my sentiment all along
Actions so transparent and telegraphed a mile long
absurd anchoring, even more absurd triggering
so absurd as to be meaningless
the hotchpotch logic of simpletons on acid
The banal manifestations of the anodyne retards with advanced hysteria
Think unruly kids on Colombian marching powder
think advanced psychosis with total stage ten delusions
Watch mass hysteria contagion
Logic was never there, rationality bolted beating Usain Bolt
Inveterate liars and fantasists now control maddened throngs
Oh dear! they decided I am madly in love with acquaintance
neither I or poor acquaintance know this
But let not the truth get in the way of a soap opera by the insanes
After All meaningless triggers and Delusionary prompts
keep the sheeples busy in People's Power utopia
They are all having a war, nobody has told me about it
I don't understand their language yet they are very eloquent
Deep in their imagined Neuro-linguistic Programming or mental pygmies playing Pavlov Dog theory of the semi-illiterates
I just realized why cancer is prevalent amongst them
They carry so much poison and emotional ******* in their beings
It pollutes and eat away at them internally, they get cancer!
Never have been interested in little minds and liars and thieves
Have little time for dumb people, the toxics and the sheeples
What makes cretins think I take anything of theirs to mind
what can I learn or gain from contemptibles
I don't feel inferior so why would I want to learn
how to slander and defame others to bring them down
'Slander is the GREAT LEVELLER voiced one of them
poor inadequate soul, poor pathetic degenerate
I look twenty years younger than my years, no wrinkles
Just slightly greying, mind as sharp as razor
Because I don't carry acidic ******* hate or foul nonsense
in my head,
Because my mind is full of worthy knowledge
because I am not an ignoramus with attitude
because I am not a shameless coward or an empty headed nonentity
Because I am not amongst the madding crowd
I am not an insignificant pointless HATER with cancer in waiting!
I am NOT a SHAMELESS RACIST white THIEF discrediting the
Victim I STOLE from
OR
an OBNOXIOUS gang of SOCIALIST crazed subhumans cancerized
by jealousy and envy
Oct 1, 2018
Oct 1, 2018 at 4:47 PM UTC
21st century slavery: Shayn Powell
Take a look around,
It’s 2018.
What do you see?
Everything looks fine,
People striding in glee?
Look hard for it may
Be a mystery,
That we’re living through
21st century slavery.
We claim these are
The lands of the free.
It’s a fib, that’s not at
All what it seems.
Because if it were
the land of the free
than Martin Luther King may
never have had his dream.
There wouldn’t have
Been a march for
Freedom in 1963.
And Mr King wouldn’t
Have lost his life
For standing up in
What everyone
Should've believed.
Take a look around,
It’s 2018.
What do you see?
Everything looks fine,
People striding in glee?
Look hard for it may
Be a mystery,
That were living through
21st century slavery.
America, “land of the free”
Were fine we claim,
living in prosperity.
“Everyone’s equal”,
You’ve heard it too, How silly
Don’t you agree?
My best friend
Rolled his window up
when he saw a policeman.
It’s sad, But this is the
reality we live in.
“We’re equal” but we
Strip kids from their dreams
Because they were brought here
Against their will illegally.
Have some leniency,
Then again you’re
changing their scenery.
How can you do that
So easily?
And what’s this ****
we learned in history?
Jim Crow laws?
Thank god those are gone.
Or so we thought
You’re not sneaky America,
Mass incarceration is
Nothing but a plot
For a group of minorities
To be 2nd class citizens
To us all.
That’s evil that should leave
everyone appalled.
It’s time for a call
For action.
All this arrogance
Has left us distracted
From what our nation
claims to practice.
Because
Take a look around,
It’s 2018.
What do you see?
Everything’s NOT fine,
People AREN'T striding in glee.
Really look for it’s
Not hard to see
That were living through
21st century slavery.
Yours truly,
That worried white kid
Who lives in a society
That’s unruly.
Apr 14, 2018
Apr 14, 2018 at 10:17 PM UTC