Black of America

America By: Tia Rowe

America, the Great for it, is modest

America, the Brave for it, is a coward

America, the Free for it, glistens with its chains

Look at this majestic land

For their waves the internal flag of despair


Fire By: Tia Rowe

We curse the man that points the gun

How dare they point at our race!

Without fear of truth

Repentance non-existence

Eyes cold as sin

They point, aim, and fire!





Dark By: Tia Rowe


My Skin

My Hair

My Eyes

The shadow that lingers behind

But, not my mind

For that is light

This poem is about: 
Our world


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741