America, the Scab

Slavery and human rights violations. Ugly, like a scab. Rough and hurts like a stab. But little by little, begins to heal; the aching sore that is a big deal. Slowly but surely, progress is being made, as hate begins to fade. America, you see her. Now hear her say, "Black lives matter".

This poem is about: 
My community
My country

Comments

senorpatrol

SO good! 

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