They Call "Us"

They call us "free"

"Free" is what they call us

But is that the case for us

No 

We aren't "free" at all 

We are the Land of the Slaves

We follow the rules of what you say to do

For us to end up getting kicked down 

For us ending up dead for carrying what you think is a gun

They call us "privileged"

Privileged is what they call us

But this is far from true

It is actually the other way around

We work so hard 

For you to end up doing less

And taking our place Anyways

But one thing they don't call us is Humble

We suffer everyday to the point we have to protest

To the point were we have to put our quality of life

In your face

But still

They call us "Free" 

This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

melaninlee

This poem is coming straight from what I see non-stop. This is a life I was born into and probably would never be able to escape because of the color of my skin. It is the beautiful struggle of a black person. But through all this pain and suffering we go through, we still manage to still be great.

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