Black woman aiming for survival,
Struggle is her title she's born a free slave.
She's still pinned down with lots of hurt and pain,
Little girl scared to grow up, scared of future rivals.
Police brutality killing; the parents we need not caring,
Souls dying inside crying out for help, but there is no one listening.
Politics are wicked governments not thinking,
They leaving out our black community, maybe that's why we are dying.
Black on black crime that's what they want to see,
We fight back only to get locked down in cells.
Thought we had freedom but still we face racism,
I cry myself to sleep wondering if this is how life supposed to be.
I pray every night that the people I love live another day,
I pray they don't cry over my open casket cause I'm so hard-headed.
We try to stand as one, but they put us down,
The only time we get recognition is selling our souls and crime.
There is no such thing as survival, you're either first or last.

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


Need to talk?

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