MY Tamir Rice

A sigh, a groan,

"Mom I don't wanna go!"

Reluctance in my every step,
Mumbling and grumbling under my breath,

I shed my PJs and dress the boys,

"Come on, lets go!" I snap

I don't want to go.


We walk the streets and reach the park

The air is cool, the clouds dark.

What an ugly day to leave the house

They love is though, their young souls show.

"Are they twins?" Some ask,


Yet we are three halves of one soul.

My brothers play, they frolic like cubs

And my sour mood lifts with the death of the cool, brisk breeze.



Friends my age, not frolicking kids.

My back turns, my legs lift,

I leave my soul behind.


"I don't wanna go!"

"Why should I have to take them?"

"Its my day off!"

"They're so annoying..."


"They go out every day..."


"They're just kids, they don't need to play!"



Unholy Silence.

Silence nonexistent when caring for kids.

Misplaced silence. Soul deep...Silence.


Then screming. Me? Yes, me.

The thought rings in my head:

My brothers are dead! My brothers are dead!

My soul...dead!

His favorite color is orange...

You painted him in red!

The color is wrong, its under the wrong head.

Forgive me for screaming,

Think nothing of my hysterics.

I stare at my brothers, their heads painted red,

Cold, cold conccrete now serves as their bed

In that moment, I hate the color red.

With your knees in my back and your hands on my head, 

I yearn to share their cold, hard, lonely bed.

This poem is about: 
My country
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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