We walk, and hold our signs in the air.
They're heavy.
But nothing is more heavy
than the unforgettable burden
of being me---us.

We hold in our hearts,
the love that should be shared
among others, brothers, sisters,
and the hope that one day
the "dream" that Mr. King has
will not be a dream but a reality.

You say you love--
but how can you truly love
when you only love people
of your own race?
Because your "distaste"
only translates to

Poetry Slam: 


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