do you know what i'm seeing

When I first thought of writing this poem 

I couldn’t think of the right words 

I played Pictionary with 

my thoughts 

For weeks 

scoured libraries full of dictionaries 

until my fingertips 

felt like book pages 

how do you find the words to tell the world how scared you are? 

I try to keep my writing calm and sweet, 

the toffee soldiers come to eat after the war. 

I love imagery and 

Metaphors 

Just as much as the next 

Little girl 

But this little girl has spent too long being told what she should think 

that Liar

is the first word that came to mind 

when I started writing this poem. 

I dare to call myself a writer 

a poet 

someone who tries to see the good left in the world, 

but  

I haven’t slept in days. 

I sit up most nights staring at the words covering my walls 

Voices in my head

That refuse to let me sleep

words stolen 

Rewritten

used to decorate a book 

titled American History 

we take and distort to make us seem like the good guys 

when 

villainy was our middle name for the majority of our past. 

It’s terrifying to know your own history. 

Ancestors hold tightly to the chains 

of the very people who need the most saving; 

she whispered to me

The secrets of our story

The ones you'd find deep in the About the Author pages,

her eyes cast down in shame as if it were her fault.

I could feel their blood on my hands 

hear wailing sirens 

coming for children who just wanted to watch a goddamn movie 

In a nicer place than the one 

Mom said not to go to no more

won’t mama be so proud 

if I get out of here alive 

If only 

The color of their skin was a little lighter 

maybe next time you’ll be lucky 

enough to be mistaken as a white man 

inside of a dark theatre. 

I see doctors refusing service to dying children 

Because of the color of their skin, 

I watch them die 

in fields of cotton

under bridges 

Swaying in trees

prickly pillows for soft hearts. 

Has it ever crossed your mind 

that maybe we should fucking feel bad? 

Society spouts every excuse it can 

Justifies hate that should have no place on pedestals 

I don’t care if you grew up that way, 

it is so easy to unlearn 

Bad habits 

the problem is the ones who don’t want to. 

The saddest stories are always the ones left untold

It’s been centuries since 

but racial bias and profiling is still so alive today 

that ghettos breathe out 

The limp bodies of every child who was taught that 

a gun could save their lives 

lungs 

coughing out toxins

its bloodstream fills 

with lost hope 

And I ask you, 

would you be caught dead 

Downtown? 

Our history 

is stolen land, hate, and bloodshed; 

how can you call yourself human 

If you don’t cry silently as we sing for freedom 

that some still fight for 

every day. 

I see you kiss him softly and believe in something beautiful 

as the world only glances

With small

smiles. 

When I started writing this poem 

I didn’t set out to tell everyone’s story; 

in all respects, 

they are not my stories to tell. 

But how else should you wear privilege

if not with a big hat and coat 

that screams 

Listen 

I have something to say. 

I live and breathe in a society fueled by a fire 

that never seems to burn out 

We try to fix hate with more hate 

as every child is born into something that could just as easily destroy them 

I watch my baby sister growing up in a world where 

she’ll learn the hard way 

to keep quiet 

Head down 

eyes on the floor 

to only raise her hand if she’s repeated 

what she wants to say at least six times over 

To not ask too many questions

Because she won’t like the answers. 

Where the very concept 

Of love

is only used by lesser poets

But what are we if not ambassadors of love

And acceptance

I look into the eyes 

Of tomorrow 

and I see the outline of forest fires 

But I've always known 

dandelions to grow over destruction 

vivid weeds that will 

Drown out sorrow  

If you let them; 

flowers are nothing short of 

bandages 

Over flesh wounds. 

The stars shine brighter 

when I'm in your arms

If only gravity decided to take a coffee break 

And maybe I'm crazy for wanting it,

but I don't believe I'd want to come back down. 

Why live on top of graveyards 

when the sky is so much more peaceful

I've felt the ground tremble 

every time 

I step on a loose pebble;

Do you know what stood here before you? 

A garden 

some would call it

overgrown, overflowing 

with wild things that would swallow you up if you let them.

The few lilies left behind 

Will tell you their story

if you'll only listen hard enough.