Poems to Feel

Dreamers

*an attempt at slam poetry*

 

Dr. Martin Luther King had a dream,

A dream in which all people

Regardless of the color of their skin,

Would be treated equally.

I read the news

And it scares me,

Scares me, because I know

My peers aren’t reading.

Scares me because

They are becoming ignorant,

They don’t live in the real world.

Where kids kill each other

Because no one taught them not to,

Where cops kill people,

And the people kill cops,

And middle easterners are violated

And treated as guilty

For what others have done.

Where white guys kill civilians, and no one calls it terrorism.

Where the government tweets

To distract the people

From tensions growing between countries.

I read the news and it doesn’t scare me.

 

It doesn’t scare me because this is America,

And Jay Gatsby had a dream,

The American dream,

Dreaming of going from dirt to riches,

Riches that are only found

In America.

And I was born in the U.S. of A baby,

Land of the free

And home of the brave-

If you’re a rich white guy.

Because I’m afraid

That they have all the power.

 

And how can you feel free when

Your friends are worried they are going to get deported.

And how can you feel free when

There’s constant hatred spewed against people who look like you on the internet.

And how can you feel free when

Women are constantly sexually harassed,

Or assaulted,

Or both,

And they tell you it’s your fault.

And how can you feel free when

Your president hates women and Mexicans,

Or I guess he doesn’t hate women,

He just degrades them

And everyone just says

“he’s just being a guy.”

And he doesn’t hate Mexicans,

he just degrades Mexicans

And wants to build a wall,

But people still support him.

But not everyone,

Just the extremely privileged.

 

Privileged, that’s right.

I’m not afraid of the word,

Privileged.

In fact,

I’m not afraid to acknowledge my own,

As a woman,

I don’t have to enlist in the draft,

And I’m not expected to pay on dates.

But privilege,

Doesn’t exist,

At least, not in the eyes of those who are extremely privileged.

Instead, they tell me

That I’m just whining,

And I’m lazy,

And I want a handout,

And they blame me for the choices that my parents made.

 

But I’m not whining,

I’m not lazy,

I’m not looking for a handout

And I’m certainly not my father,

Just like I know you’re not yours.

I work for everything I have,

I work for my family,

And I work for my education.

But still, it’s my fault,

That my parents didn’t go to college,

Because they didn’t plan ahead.

 

But that’s just it,

To them,

It’s a privilege just to be here,

To them, they are living the American dream,

The one Gatsby was after-

But it’s not my fault,

And its not your fault

And I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty,

I’m just trying to make a statement;

That those “illegal Mexicans”

Who steal jobs,

And have dozens of children,

And contribute nothing to society,

And those children who were conceived “illegally”

Or brought here illegally,

They have dreams.

And their parents have dreams.

 

And to reach those dreams

We hold jobs,

And pay taxes,

And go to school

To become better members of society,

And we are catching up,

And soon we will be blessed,

And have better, even more privileges.

So acknowledge your privilege,

And don’t try to take away mine,

Because I read the news,

and I’m afraid

I’m afraid that America is afraid.

 

-d.c.

#isupportdaca

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Poems to Feel

Maggots

Love doesn’t soothe the lonely,

the thoughts still enter my mind.

Surrounded by loved ones,

attempting to distract,

but the thoughts,

they enter

like maggots

in my ears,

rotting away

the good feelings,

poisoning them,

creating loneliness in its place.

leaving an emptiness unbearable to the taste.

d.c.

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Poems to Feel

Dissection

Carving into my chest,

pulling out my own heart,

dissecting it on the floor

of my messy bedroom.

 

Listening for the beat,

hearing underlying sadness,

screaming out questions

“Why do this to me?”

 

“it’s not me”

it cries as it struggles to survive

the cuts and bruises

I just inflicted.

 

It’s that mind of mine,

the true antagonist,

the reason I feel

an eternal melancholy.

 

Go away!

unbind,

release,

bring me to peace

with my misery.

-d.c.

 

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