Mike Brown

Eighteen years young, just to have his life taken by a gun. The thudding of his mothers heart like feet stomping on the ground, when she heard that the one they shot was her baby Mike Brown. Laying in a pool of blood for hours, like the pool of tears she shed like the rain of April showers. Unarmed they say, so who is to blame?

This poem is about: 
Our world

Comments

savigirl14

Powerful

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