the future of america

sits on hard grey seats

in a hard grey interior,

encased in a yellow façade.

we are  the chameleons

reflecting our world,

but neither the cheery paint

nor the colorful uniforms

can hide that the students,

once prisms,

are as grey as the bus seats

they force themselves into

every morning.

we seek release in words,

yet even our poetry

has been appropriated,

our vulnerability replaced

with analysis after analysis,

devoid of emotion.

but this is reclamation .

this is resistance.

This poem is about: 
My community


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