2015

Wed, 09/23/2015 - 20:37 -- Kynady

The year is 2015

And for some people they're living the dream

But yet why do I feel like we went back in time to 1965

I'm an African American girl that's seventeen and I'm trying to survive

While my brothers and sisters are being murdered in their cells and on the streets

And all the while we'll keeping chanting no justice, no peace

Now I may be young but I'm certainly not foolish

All these absences of indicments it's leaving me clueless

It doesn't matter if you're twelve or forty-three

Yelling hands up don't shoot or I can't breathe

Because the police don't care who you are or your name

To them your just another African American slain

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My country
Our world

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