"The War on the Poor"

I say I don’t see color, I have no bias

I swear it’s true, no one believes me for

I am there, then the children fall to the ground.

I nudge them just to feel them lying still on the floor.

If I had eyes I would close them


Continuously spitting, I can’t believe I am

The cause of all of this blood.

Suddenly I am dropped

My bulky black body falls to the ground.


I am swimming in blood

If I had lungs I would drown,

If I had a voice, I would scream

Help me escape.

I am put behind bars until I break free.


These are new hands, but I am traumatized

I obey every command, I respond to every touch.

We practice until I can quickly understand

What needs to be done.


Through my scope I see

A man. His hands are raised,

He is crying, “Please don’t --”

His dispute cut off at the root as

He falls to the ground in a state of

Eternal slumber

His body matches my color.

I am a murderer, a heart-breaker, a home-wrecker.

Ironic that this ‘killing machine’

Is immortal, for I even if I try,

I can never die.

This poem is about: 
My country
Our world


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