Sunday, July 26, 2015

Poetic Injustice

It could have been me.
Statistically, It would have been me.
Shame and fear wrapped around a finger,
that pulled a trigger
and It wasn't right.

My heart swallows itself
when I'm holding his hand
and when I'm walking home at night.
Tell me why they're allowed to take another life;
another bright colorful life.

We're an endangered specie
with no rights and no protection.
We live in a world where strange fists
meet our skin when we display affection.
They say fairies,
We say humans.
With no equality;
bigots can turn us into angels.

Mark,
my words are blinded by pride,
sadden by sorrow,
laced with poison
and inspired by the freedom of tomorrow.

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