Untitled by Maren B
This is not my poem to write
This never has been, never will be, never is
This isn’t my poem to write because my ancestor’s blood
Does not run through the veins of the Capitol’s walls
Because I’ve never been chased from stores,
Curses spit at my heels like venom
I shouldn’t be playing the solo of this concert;
I should be the swell of music that builds in support
The quiet hum that follows, the rhythm beneath the melody
The command that quiets the torrent of intolerant voices
So that they may listen to what they refuse to hear
I should shout the names, the families, the deaths
Without questioning their integrity
Their value of character, what they did and didn’t do
Inserting opinions no one asked for
Fact:
George Floyd was wrongly murdered
Put through hell for eight minutes and forty-six seconds
Fact:
Emmett Till was fourteen when he was tortured for a whistle he didn’t make
Killed for an act that’s excusable when done by an old white man
Fact:
Sean Monterrosa was shot at five times
Over a gun he didn’t have
Fact:
I will never have to deal with a fraction of the things
A person of color is forced to deal with
Fact:
I have no place in this discussion
Unless it’s to uplift
To support the chorus
To hand my microphone to silenced voices
Otherwise, I should really shut the hell up
Untitled by Oluwayanmife O
Listen up closely. We must not hold our heads down crying. We are beautiful, our brown skin glows, don't mistake my black skin for weakness. Our rich African roots, our luscious hair curls, beautiful thick hair for we are powerful our father God In heaven made us in a special version of his own image Brown skin just like pearls our children were killed because there are black They take our skin for granted our skin is not something you pick of the shelf and if you don’t like Put it back No we are leaders Kings Queens in black colors you Think just because we are wearing a hood That were going rob or kill No we are tired striving trying to make it listen Up closely we Must not give up But stand up To our battles On this black history month things must change.
Rough Ride by Nina B
Freddie Gray was taken on a rough ride
He tried to run
He tried to hide
But that’s how life is on the West side
His life changed in an instant
He wanted to run
He was hesitant
Freddie knew that in Baltimore
You were guilty until proven innocent
On Presbury Street
They caught him with a knife
His trial was on the concrete
Freddie got life
He was pushed and shoved into a van
Not enough room for a 25-year-old to stand
A young 25-year-old man
Killed without a cause
Killed without a reason
Everyday police kill without a pause
Cause everyday is killing season
Together we must be strong
Together we must stand up and fight
Together we must speak up for what’s right
Because together
We are strong
The Prequel by Stella S
Injustice, a word used so often, yet is very rarely resolved.
Too many faces hide behind “indifference” and would rather not get involved.
I once had no opinion but now my mind is changed
Once I saw how the violence had led to outrage.
No more sitting back, no more “there’s nothing I can do”
This is everyone's fight and it’s long overdue.
Oppression has been in America for over 400 years.
It started with prejudice and continues on through fear.
Fear of the different and fear of truth
That something needs to be done, and it starts with us youth.
Through protest and outcry we’ve taken on this fight.
To uphold the freedom that should be given as a birthright.
They have argued that our age denounces our proclamations
But we will not stand by when those who censure and oppress have dismantled our nation.
There is no doubt that great strides have been made,
It’s 2022 and the BLM movement has not begun to fade.
The road to justice for all may be bumpy and filled with holes,
But we know where we’re going, we keep in sight our goals.
An age will dawn where we can truly say “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal,”
The time will come, we are just now in the prequel.
Untitled by Evangeline F
The names of the oppressed are the names that you let yourself forget.
You sit,
And you smoke,
And you laugh,
While we scream.
You, with the badge
You smiled while George Floyd suffocated.
Each time you breathe in,
Think about the breaths that you never let him take.
You, with the gun
You sped while you broke Freddie Gray’s spine.
Each time you take a step,
You need to think about the steps that he will never take again.
You, the oppressor.
The coward.
The villain.
It's time to wake up and realize that you are no hero.
You are not blessed
With the opportunity to murder.
You are not god,
Nor a protector.
You are the oppressor.
The one who needs to wake up.
You are a coward.
Afraid of color, but not colorblind.
You are afraid of anyone whose skin is not white.
Afraid of anyone who doesn’t believe in bloodshed.
You, the murderer
It is time to wake up and recognize that you are the one shooting children.
George Zimmerman,
You shot Trayvon Martin.
A seventeen year old boy buying skittles;
You shot a child because you said he was a threat.
Bret Hankinson
You shot Breonna Taylor
A twenty six year old black woman;
You had no clear reason, you had an indifferent value for her life.
Derek Chauvin,
You suffocated George Floyd.
A forty six year old black man
You thought he was running from you, so you took away his right to breathe
What has happened to our world?
Why can’t we stop?
Where do you draw the line?
Are we meant to accept the apologies?
Are we supposed to sit with the short sentences?
Are we doomed to pat you on the back and say “you just weren’t thinking right?”
This issue is not as small as you.
This is embedded in our history.
This IS the system.
It is time to wake up.