A.M.E.R.I.C.A

A for all the times I've been profiled for my skin color.

M for making me feel unwanted and undeserving to live in a county known as the "land of the free".

E for everyone locked away just for being dark or just for looking "suspicious".

R for resisting arrest actually meaning just asking "why".

I for insisting that "racism has been dead" since the Civil Rights Movement.

C for calling me a nigger or a colored person when I'm just African American.

A for again sweeping race issues under the rug like anything that actually matters in this country.

Put those letters all together and what do they spell?

The place we stay in. The place we live in. The place that we don't want to live in.

The fact of the matter is that A.M.E.R.I.C.A is starting to look like H.E.L.L if you don't have money or if your skin isn't light enough.

People need to start opening their eyes and stop opening their wallets.

Money and power won't fix everything.

Movement and persistence will.

We need to start turning this H.E.L.L into a H.O.M.E.

Well for the rest of us at least.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My country

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