Blended to Grey.

How do my genetics decide what I get and

why does my pigmentation determine the quality of my life?

How am I expected to be calm when I'm constantly threatened

with the personal encounter with the afterlife?

 

Spreading hate, you'd think people would tire,

but no.

I say its wrong and they call me a liar.

"Let it go,"

they say.

"You don't know,"

they say.

 

But I know more than you and your hate can ever comprehend.

You and your bigoted lifestyle,

living in ignorance and--all the while--

children are dying 'cause your skin and theirs just couldn't blend.

Oh, I know more than you and your hate can ever comprehend.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

NeahOlson.

Thank you for reading this.

This was merely me releasing my rage into words on a page.

(Hah, that rhymed.)

I was thinking of this as more of a Slam-poem than anything else. I hope you enjoyed.

Thanks again!

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