My Harlem
Out of the shadows we come as a roar
With pen and sound my people soar
From the field to the stage
From our minds to the page
This separate but equal
Will never have a sequel
Take a back seat so you can tell
What exactly is our hell-
And our revival
No, even more so, our survival
So we’ll have our own names
And our children will have the same
We raise our mics, horns and ferrules
Become one with these urban jungles
Challenging the status quo
Especially when you all say no
We the people, for the people
Ha your equal is feeble
Inconceivable how unbelievable
I question how it's even legal
👁 1💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.