Creeping through the silent night

Floor boards eerily echo throughout the house.

They’ve come before,

Now they’ve come back.

Seventy-five percent

Seventy-five percent

Will return with me.

Taken from the peaceful silence,

Drawn out into the growling cold,

Only to remember how the floorboards hissed and vibrated

As the police made their way to take them away.

How they induced a reaction that made them feel worthless.

With each creak and snap,

Trickling shivers were sent down their spines.

Seventy-five percent

Seventy-five percent will return with me.

Seventy-five percent

Feel worthless,







but i am not worthless.



i am not your property.



you may take me and break me and kill me i will feel shaken and gone and destroyed left crying out devoid of all humanity i thought i once had.

but i will rise.

I will not die until I am dead in the ground.


Recidivism means I will return. I will come back. I am not gone. Though I may be on leave. I am not gone. I am not gone. I am not gone. 



I am not gone.


This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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