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Genocide
I met with Michael Brown last night and spoke with Trayvon Martin, we chatted about heaven and their cases and how things should've been different.
Eventually I felt sick and had to leave the meeting, but on my way out I ran into Rodney King. He was crying from the unjustice shown once again by the courts.
I couldn't take it anymore, I ran in hopes of escaping. But then came Oscar Green and Kimani Gray who were drinking coffee and speaking about their deaths.
I stopped at this sight and saw the city was filled with those killed. It seemed there was no end to it. I saw my ancestors and theirs and my family & friends.
But as I awoke from this dream I became restless and walked to the store. At the store I get into an arguement with the clerk and stormed out of the store.
Good thing I put down the purchase because here comes the cops. But while this goes on I flash back to poor Victor Steen and I get nervous.
Before I knew it I was on the ground, there were guns everywhere. A robbery?! I didn't do anything of the sort, why am I here right now?
Then they disappear and I find myself followed down a street. Another gun and hot temper. Where does it end?
The that disappears and I'm facing a gun to the head, execution style. Any last words? I think not, but before I breathe there's a shot.
To you I look suspicious, I'm not an angel. But I didn't deserve the bullets and broken bones that have me rotting in a casket.
Does it seem right to treaat me this way? Does anyone even care?For the system at work that consists of one word... Genocide.
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The tension is unbareable and the hate is raging. True, this poem isn't doing much but it sure helps channel anger and emotion, and bring us uptodate with current events from how a black teen sees it.