Gold
Romantic blood and majestic past;
Flatter the abused, give them scraps,
Or they’ll ask for respect.
Maintain a system
Of perception.
No, don’t call it oppression.
You are made of gold --
Brilliant!
Let me apologize
For the pickaxe in my father’s hand.
I had nothing to do with that.
My rings are heirlooms.
Satisfy yourself with pictures
And statistics we’ve skewed
For your viewing pleasure.
Don’t ask questions that go
Deeper than your feed --
We’ve provided all you need.
Poetry Slam:
This poem is about:
Me
My community
My country
Our world