Star whom I think of
You are never out of sight
Though your light might not be easily identified,
Your glow radiates on,
Long after you make an impression upon my eye,
You are words that speak to my heart,
And echo the feeling of viewing this imperfect world,
You are hope,
A sign of the good there is,
There always is,
Despite,
For you are love
Category: Poetry
Worried Mind
Bring the imagined
Bring back something fantasy,
For a worried mind
Lashings
Masks, hoods
are off,
The lashings are linguistic,
Yet none less painful,
POCs nurse their wounds,
Tend their wounded,
And prepare for next moves,
Preparing for the inevitable
next attacks
Home
We are the meld
Of the melting pot
That they fear,
The unification of contradictions,
That makes it possible to think,
And not be compelled to remain within party lines,
We are the ones they fear,
They know they cannot control,
Because we know the story,
Know the game,
Know the values,
And are ready to play,
We are the ones told to “go back” from whence we came,
For attempting to be in,
and to fix a broken system,
And know there is silence when our less pigmented brethren do the same,
I am at once proud and ashamed,
And trying my best to be colored beneath a Star spangled banner,
A country that was never designed for me,
Or you, or you,
The oligarchy keeps the barriers in place,
And erects new ones,
Barbed wire fences,
To keep masses divided,
I am not your enemy,
Though I will be villainized for speaking my truth,
For not averting my eyes,
My identity will be used when convenient,
To make a xenophobic point,
Or alternatively for one to save face and prove they are not
Racist,
They fear not just vengeance for centuries of Injustice,
But passing, successes, rewritten social castes,
They fear reality,
That we have no place else to go,
Because this is,
as much for us,
as it is for them,
Home.
We Survived
They say we survived President X,
We’ll survive this,
But many didn’t under President X,
And fewer are making it now,
Concentration Camps are ensuring that less and less will make it,
It’s not an accident children are suffering and dying,
That was the plan to deter,
That was the plan to punish,
Little brown skinned babies,
For existing at this time,
Under these circumstances,
And it’s the job of those surviving,
To stop what is going on,
To make sure all survive,
And that this happens
Never again.
No One Else
The darkness
We are told stories about,
It is here,
Do not avert your eyes,
We brought it here,
Collectively conjured the deepest evils,
It is our job to reign the hellhounds,
That reside here,
It is our job to restore humanity,
To pick up,
To free from cages
the fallen,
the lost,
the battered
and bruised,
It is our job,
There is no one else.
She of Letters 