America

Fear. 

Sadness. 

Anger. 

Death. 

Nothing seems right

Nothing seems fair 

Black bodies gunned down

Strangled.  

Murdered. 

Disposable. 

As if we are still worth three-fifths of a man 

As if we are not claimed by our country 

Year after year. 

Name after name 

Trayon

Eric

Freddie

Sandra

Killed by police brutality

Killed by a system stacked against us  

Killed by a country grown to hate us

The die-ins, the walkouts, the hoodies and Skittles, the saying of her name 

Nothing seems to work 

Nothing seems to change 

No justice, no peace 

Yet poetry

The words on a page

The concepts so eloquently written out 

The escape

My voice 

My experiences

My release 

No Fear. 

No Sadness.

No Anger. 

No Death. 

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This poem is about: 
Me
My community

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