Hands up to make it
easy – but you don’t
see me – more than
in your way I’m
my mother’s babe, my
friend’s memory, my
people’s cries.

“Whys” won’t erase
the nightmare of closed
eyes to our plight – a
legacy of “too young”
goodbyes, as we
drift from pride to
hopelessness; reckless
compromise with
an aristocracy peddling
fear – transforming
will-to-live into an
endless struggle to
forgive.

For we are not
your “forty seven

percent,” or your tax
dollars spent – begging
like dogs for scraps
from your table. We
are a people in search of
the love that we gave up
to toughen up, in
our soul’s quest for
peace, we must first
find a way to
breathe.

 

Featured image via www.civilrightsteaching.org/

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